


A Change is Gonna Come - Part Four: Safari Song

by Emi_theSassiestSousa



Series: A Change is Gonna Come [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: BAMF Castiel (Supernatural), BAMF Crowley (Supernatural), But also, Co-Starring: Crushing Guilt, Dean's Birthday, Declarations Of Love, F/M, Fluff, Happy Sam, Hurt, M/M, Mytharc, Pining, Possible Sexual Assault Triggers, SO MUCH FLUFF, Sam deserves better, Sam's mental health, Shipper Sam, Staring: Sass, Suicide mentions, Use. Your. God. Damned. Words., because it's a story hellen, characters doing problematic things, dubcon in chapter ten, everyone knows, gets better before it gets worse, i am literally giving you a chapter that is 100 percent happy, i don't know how that happened but let's not question it, so he's goddamned getting it, the patented Winchester Language of Love, where's the comfort?, yes i know what i typed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-06-07 14:36:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 52,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15221327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emi_theSassiestSousa/pseuds/Emi_theSassiestSousa
Summary: Sam has been struck down, Cas and Dean barely know what to do, Bris is trying to hold them all together, and icing on the birthday cake, Gabriel is still in Hell.But between all that comes the first good week Team Free Will has had in a long time - although everyone knows that when things start going good for a Winchester, shit is due down the pipeline at any moment.And across the rift, something is definitely brewing.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone! We're back with another installation of A Change is Gonna Come!  
> All I have for notes this time is that the dark themes pull back just a smidge in this one, and that there's some ACTUAL fluff to be found! Yes, I've finally learned the difference between "Actual Fluff" and "My Characters Aren't SUFFERING in This Particular Moment" XD
> 
> As I go through with my Big Edit, I'm trying to de-clutter a bit, so I've taken some of the more extraneous Tags and pulled them down here:  
> -#The Author refuses to apologize for the amount of music #but you should know she's terribly self-conscious about it #but it's kind of the overarching theme here so...  
> -#this is a Frankenfic but unlike Victor I will love and care for my monster child  
> -#Jack is a Ray of Sunshine in a Terrible World  
> -#Irish and American History Jokes #Y'all are familiar with the Norman Invasion of Ireland ca. 1169 right?
> 
> ***Chapter Ten has a relatively short stretch of dubcon/possible assault triggering material*** I would be more than happy to provide an alternate chapter to anyone who wants to avoid that. Also, separately, there are suicidal mindsets peppered all over the back half of this piece, so be prepared for that.
> 
> Alright, I think that's everything, so without further ado here is Part Four - Safari Song:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {A Change is Gonna Come - Lyrics Excerpt}  
>  _...There'd been times where I thought I,_  
>  _Couldn't last for long,_  
>  _Now I think I'm able,_  
>  _To carry on,_
> 
> _It's been a long (it's been a long, long)_  
>  _Long time comin',_  
>  _And I know,_  
>  _Change is gonna come,_  
>  _Oh yes, it will..._
> 
>  
> 
> {[Safari Song](https://open.spotify.com/track/1BfR5GMOgW0peHkPxrwf11?si=w3CjFdKfTquEb8geWODjfA) \- Lyrics}  
>  _Oh lady, when you come on down, won't you come on down,_  
>  _I said to my town,_  
>  _Oh mama, when you come on down, won't you come on down,_  
>  _I said to my home,_  
>  _Oh lady, won't you move my way, can't you move my way,_  
>  _I'm gettin' hazy,_  
>  _Oh mama, when you give your love, when you give your love,_  
>  _You drive me crazy,_
> 
> _Oh mama, what you gonna do with all that love in your heart?_  
>  _Oh mama, what you gotta say about that love in your heart?_  
>  _Oh mama, when you walk this way why don't you give some lovin'?_  
>  _Oh mama, what you gonna do with all that love in your heart?_
> 
> _See mama, gonna feel your everything, I feel your everything,_  
>  _I really wanna know,_  
>  _See mama, when you shine you're shinin' bright, give your givin' light,_  
>  _I really want our love to grow,_  
>  _See mama, when your heart is in its place, see that smilin' face,_  
>  _Is all I wanna do,_  
>  _See mama, every time that you are near, it's when you're gonna fear,_  
>  _You'll never wanna come back home,_
> 
> _[chorus]_
> 
>   _Do you remember what I said when I got down on my knees?_  
>  _Gotta get your lovin' baby, your lovin's all I need,_  
>  _Don't make me beg now baby, don't make me bleed,_  
>  _I gave you all a man could give and you still walked out on me,_
> 
> _Oh mama, what you gonna do with all that love in your heart?_  
>  _Oh mama, what you gotta say about that love in your heart?_  
>  _Oh mama, when you walk this way why don't you give some lovin'?_  
>  _Oh mama, what you gonna do with all that love in your heart?_
> 
> _Your heart,_
> 
> _Your heart,_
> 
> _Your heart,_
> 
>  _Your heart,_  
>  _Lovin',_  
>  _Burnin',_  
>  Fire,
> 
> _Ohh, yeah_

* * *

 

Castiel retracted his fingers from Sam's forehead, slowly, shakily; staring at him now lying on his side, curled on the floor. The screams of a moment ago echoed from the kitchen tile, into a silence that was proving no less painful. 

“What just happened?” Bris finally asked on a breath. 

Kneeling beside Castiel, Dean's hand tightened on Sam's arm.

“I don't know,” Castiel answered. "It doesn't... This shouldn't be happening.

Dean lifted his hand, carefully brushing a lock of hair from Sam's face.

He rolled Sam onto his back and slipped an arm under his shoulders to lift him. “Gotta get him to his room," he grunted, "get him in a bed.”

Castiel twitched forward but pulled himself back.

Dean was on his feet quickly, supporting Sam's weight with a practiced ease. He shifted to balance him better, and headed for the doorway to the library. Bris leapt forward after him, ducking under Sam's other arm. 

Just as they passed through, Ketch appeared in front of them. “Well, now—”

“You stay out of this!” Dean snapped.

Ketch raised his palms and just watched them pass toward the hallway.

As they hurried to get Sam to his room, Castiel finally followed them and rushed ahead to open the bedroom door. With some careful maneuvering, Dean and Bris managed to get Sam onto the still-rumpled bed.

Then Bris gasped, she almost shrieked. As Sam came to rest on his back, her hands shot to cover her mouth and she fell back a step.

“What, what is it?” Dean spun to her.

“His— His heart—” Bris stuttered, just shaking her head.

“His heart? Bris, come on, tell me what you’re seeing!”

“There's... It’s just..." She just kept shaking her head. "There’s no... There's light to it… The light… The light’s _gone…”_

“Well, is there _anything?_ ”

“There’s just— There's— _A Mhaighdean…_ ” She shut her eyes against whatever she was seeing and tried again, though her hands still shook against her mouth. "There’s only the wounds. Only the dark marks on his heart... The light... The light’s completely gone,” tears fell down her cheeks, “it's jus’ gone.”

Dean looked helplessly between Bris and Sam, then up at Castiel. He found him frozen, staring at Sam in wide-eyed horror.

“Cas, can you do something?” Dean asked.

Castiel started to reach a hand out, but stopped and pulled back.

“Cas, please!”

His eyes jumped to Dean, two desperations meeting over Sam.

“Cas… please…”

Castiel swallowed, head nodding shortly as he looked back down. He brought his hovering hand to Sam's forehead, and placed his fingertips at his temple. Dean stared as he did so, as though his gaze might make this go faster. Bris slowly lowered a hand from her mouth, reaching out to take one of Sam’s.

After a moment, Castiel frowned. “But... that doesn't make sense..."

 _"What_ doesn't make sense?" asked Dean.

"This is…" His frown cut deeper. "Dean, this might go down to his soul. Everything is— There's so  _much._ It's like a flood... a deluge of..." He raised pleading eyes to Dean, “It’s very hard to describe—”

"Well try, Cas.”

“It... It seems as though..." He looked back to Sam. "It's like a landslide, a mudslide, like he's being buried by this darkness all at once. But that's impossible, it doesn't make any _sense_ that Sam would—!"

"Cas, Cas, stay with me," Dean called him back. "Is this a curse? Is it psychic?"

He shook his head. "No. No, there's no evidence of that. I can't find a source, nothing new. Whatever this is... it's coming from him."

"From Sam?"

Castiel nodded.

The fraction of calm that had made it to Dean's face cracked, his eyes now running frantically over Sam for a clue.

“The necklace,” he said, "what about the necklace?"

"Well... it's..." Castiel exhaled with a shrug. “It's trying to help.”

Dean frowned at Cas before looking down at the amulet on Sam’s chest, a stamped coin with a woman’s face embossed over a "V" that hung on a thin chain, laying resolutely on top of his shirts, as always.

“So can you do anythin’, Castiel?” Bris asked softly.

Castiel raised his head to look between her and Dean. “I don’t know.”

“Dammit, Cas, _try,”_ Dean stressed.

Castiel nodded again, and shifted to lay his full hand upon Sam's forehead. He closed his eyes, and his palm lit with grace. 

After minutes that felt like hours, Castiel removed his hand and slowly raised his eyes to them.

“I can’t—"

 _“Damn it!”_ Dean whirled and rushed the door, spinning back with his hands clutching at his hair, “I just—  _Damn_ it!" 

Castiel wouldn't meet his eyes.

“Okay.” Dean spread his arms. ”Okay, what do we do? We gotta do something.”

“I don't know—”

“Damn it, we’re gonna do something!”

“There isn't—”

“There's always something!” Dean faced Cas fully. “There's always _something!_  So what the fuck can we do?”

Castiel shrank further into himself, looking over Sam again. His eyes lingered where Bris was holding his hand and rose to meet her gaze, then returned to Sam.

“I could—” but Castiel stopped himself.

“What?” Dean strode up to him. “What, Cas?”

“No, please, forget I said anything, it would be excruciating for him.”

 _“What,_ Cas?” Dean tried to find Cas’s line of sight, his growing panic painted plainly across his face.

Castiel kept his gaze averted. “I might… I might be able to do something if I—”

“No, wait,” Dean cut him off, shaking his head as he looked down at Sam, ”you mean… _Shit...”_ He raised a fist to his mouth. “Shit, god, no.”

“What?” Bris asked.

“I... I could reach in,” Cas explained. “I could reach in and touch his soul.”

Bris’s hand twitched in Sam's. “You can do that?”

“Yes, but it would be painful. Agonizing.” Castiel looked down to Sam. “The soul and the body are intrinsically linked. To invade one is to invade the other—”

“No,” Dean decided. “What else can we do? There’s gotta be somethin' else.”

“All I can think of is some sort of possessio—”

_“No.”_

“Exactly.”

Dean ran a hand through his hair and dropped it to his side. “Great... Another fucking _fantastic_ choice…” He turned and stepped toward the door. “Another _goddamn FANTASTIC choice!”_  

Bris flinched at his shout. Dean didn't see.

Castiel watched Dean's back helplessly. “Dean, I'm so—”

“Don't.” Dean turned around with a palm raised. “Just don't right now. We need to fix this right now.”

"Well if we don't know whats to do," said Bris, "is this somethin’ that could get better with time?”

“Every moment we wait Sam is sinking further,” said Castiel.

Dean looked down at his little brother.

“Then do it,” he decided. “Just do it, Cas.”

Castiel hesitated, but Dean’s eyes were on him now. He positioned his hand over Sam's stomach— but he stopped. He pulled back.

“No, this… I can't do this to Sam again.”

“Again?” Dean asked. “What, back when—? No, he didn't even have his soul then, Cas, we had to find out if—”

“No, Dean. Not then.”

“So, when...?” Then Dean remembered.

Lucifer.

“Cas,” Dean came up next to him, “no, Cas, that wasn't you. That was him, you know that.”

“You don't understand, Dean—”

“I don't have to,” Dean cut him off. ”Sam needs you, Cas, this is completely different.” He placed a hand on his arm and Castiel snapped up to face him. “You just said it, we can't wait.”

Dean saw the pain in Cas’s eyes, he did. If there were any other way he would never ask him to do this. But it was this or… And no one was ever gonna do that to Sam again. Not as long as Dean lived.

Castiel held his gaze a moment longer, searching his face before he dropped his head and his shoulders fell.

He positioned his hand over Sam's abdomen.

“If you wish to leave the room,” he said, ”go now.”

Dean shook his head. Bris voiced a quiet, "No."

Castiel shut his eyes.

“I'm sorry,” he said. 

His hand lit again and he pressed against Sam's stomach; gently at first, but soon having to be more insistent. Sam's face twitched, brow dipping with discomfort but not distress. Castiel squeezed his eyes tighter, pushed harder, and a groan fell from Sam's throat.

“I'm so sorry.”

He pushed again and the light began to spill from Sam's abdomen. His hand began to sink into that light and Sam inhaled sharply, his body snapped tight—

and that was when he began to scream.

Bris gripped Sam's hand in both of her own. Dean stood staunch behind Castiel, refusing to turn away.

Castiel shifted, now moving his hand up into Sam's rib cage and Sam's screams only worsened. His hand crushed Bris’s and his free arm flailed, fingers digging into the mattress, clawing at his shirt, ripping the sheet.

Castiel's eyes snapped open, bright and alight with grace. He tried to speak, “It's… I…”

He cried out and his jaw clenched.

“Cas—!” Dean reached out.

“No!” Castiel stopped him. “No, just… maybe…”

His eyes flared and the lights in the room surged, and Sam arched off the bed, his scream tripping with a crack.

Castiel did it again and Sam spasmed again. A tear fell into Sam's shirt.

He did it once more and Sam's screaming ceased entirely. His jaw hung open, silently crying out to them.

Castiel was trembling, but it wasn't over yet. With that glow holding steady in his eyes, he turned his arm and he began to pull back. Sam slowly fell back to the bed, his face still pained, but his body settling.

Castiel’s arm relaxed, as though he were releasing his hold on something, and he withdrew his hand from Sam.

Then his legs gave out beneath him and he collapsed to the floor. Dean rushed to him, despite the hand Castiel raised.

“Cas—”

“I gave him all I could,” Castiel panted, “I gave him as much as I could but I couldn't bring him back to consciousness—”

“What about you?” 

“If he doesn't wake up soon I could try again, give him more—”

“And what about _you?”_ Dean stressed as he quickly checked that Sam was stable now. “Cas, you didn't do something stupid—”

“I'll be fine," Castiel snapped, and shifted away from Dean to try to stand up on his own. Dean swooped back in and helped him up into a nearby chair, keeping one hand on Cas’s shoulder. 

Bris pulled her sore fingers from Sam's and replaced them with her other hand. As Dean fussed over Castiel, she tucked a lock of hair behind his ear and allowed her palm to carry down to hold his jaw.

“All that..." she murmured, "All that an' you almost couldn’t tell…”

"What?" asked Dean.

“He just... looks like he could jus’ be asleep, don't he?”

Dean sighed as he stood back up, to face her. "Yeah, that's what I used to think, too," he said. "Starting to seem like they always look like that."

“Who?”

“The people who are hurting too bad.”

Bris didn't have a response for that. She returned her gaze to Sam, her thumb running over his cheekbone.  

They sat in silence, meditating on the steady rhythm of Sam's breathing.

“You said earlier,” Bris started, softly breaking the vigil, ”that this were somethin’ to do with Hell?”

Dean's shoulders fell. “Christ. Of course you haven't talked about it…” He looked to her with apologetic eyes. “There's so much shit, Bris. I'm so sorry you had to find out like this. Sam probably never wanted you to have to know…” 

Bris looked between him and Sam. “Should I… Should I know now?”

Castiel and Dean exchanged a look. Dean nodded.

“Years ago, Sam sacrificed himself to avert the Apocalypse,” Castiel said with effort. “He was tortured by the Archangel Lucifer in Hell for the rough equivalent of centuries on Earth. Sam carries many burdens, but we thought— _I_ thought that I had lifted this one from him.”

“The Apocalypse?” Bris breathed. “No, wait, _Lucifer?_ As in—”

“Yeah, that one,” Dean snarled.

She dropped her gaze from Dean to search Sam's face, eyes wide in awe at the man below her. Then an unexpected smile tugged at her lips, and her voice wavered when she said under her breath, *Don't know how you're standin’, much less talkin’ and smilin’.*

Castiel's brow knitted but he didn't seem to have the energy to correct her.

She looked back to them both, “So you think he’s havin’ flashbacks to that, but we don't know what's done it to him?”

“We don't," said Dean. "But my guess is that fuckin’ witch had something to do with it.”

“What?” Bris recoiled. “No, I done killed her. She couldn't—”

“Before that,” Dean interrupted. “She did somethin' to Sam a month ago. Put somethin’ on him. Made him all… Made him all…” Dean shook a hand near his head, not sure of what word he needed.

“But she shouldn't have been able to in the first place,” Castiel murmured.

Dean looked down at Castiel. He was staring at his hands.

“Cas—”

Castiel pulled himself from Dean’s hand still on his shoulder and stood, unsteady on his feet but determined to reach the door.

“Hey, don't—” Dean reached for him, but Castiel jerked away. He was gone before Dean could protest again.

Dean looked at Sam, then up to Bris.

“Go,” she nodded. "I'm here."

He looked at her a moment longer, then rushed out the door.

———

Dean burst from the room, leaving the door cracked behind him and running after Cas's fading footsteps. 

He didn't hear the other set of footsteps retreating sharply in the opposite direction.

He emerged from the hallway into the library and spun around, searching. Shit, for a guy with no juice left Cas sure was moving—

Wait, there. Cas was already halfway across the map room, heading for the stairs.

Cas was leaving.

Again.

“Hey!” Dean bolted for him, crossing the library and the map room in seconds. He caught him by the arm just as he reached the first step and pulled him back, and in Cas’s current state, he offered little resistance.

“What the hell are you doing?” Dean’s concerned eyes tried to find Cas’s own. “You can barely stand, let alone walk around out there!”

Castiel kept his eyes on the floor.

“Cas, talk to me, what the hell is going on?”

Castiel turned slightly to the stairs, but Dean tugged him back with the hand still clutching his arm. _“Cas!”_

Castiel squeezed his eyes shut. “I failed you.”

Three words and they hit Dean like a shot to the gut. His hand slipped from Cas, and all he could manage was a quiet, “What?”

“I was supposed to help Sam.” Castiel balled his fists. “I was supposed to take those memories away. I thought I did. I took them on for all that time but… I don't understand how, but I failed Sam. I failed you.”

“Cas—”

“And then I… I had to do _that_ to him! My failure caused that catastrophic damage. If I hadn't broken his wall, if I had gotten him out of Hell sooner...”

Dean was speechless. That was _years_ ago. They had forgiven him for that  _years_ ago but still it clung to him after all this time.

“I'll leave,” Castiel said as he turned away. Again. He started up the stairs. “Once Jack and Mary are back home you'll never have to see me agai—”

“What? No! Cas!” Dean shot forward and grabbed the sleeve of Cas’s coat. Castiel stopped, but he only turned back halfway, and he still wouldn't look up from the floor.

“I keep failing you, Dean. I shouldn’t stay here.”

“You— You didn't—” Dean sputtered. “Even if you did— and you _didn’t—_ you don't just _leave_ over that! Why would you…? _‘Shouldn't stay’...?”_   Dean pulled Cas back down the stairs again. “Jesus, Cas, you're not just _staying_ here!”

 _“Then why am I here, Dean?”_ Castiel raised his voice, shouting at the floor, “Why are you keeping me around!”

“We're not _keeping you around!”_

Castiel flinched. Dean caught himself and pulled back.

“I thought— Don't— ...Don't you _want_ to be here?” Dean asked.

Castiel’s head fell lower.

*More than anything...* he said.

It was so quiet, barely more than a whisper, but Dean was still bowled over.

“Then why are you leaving?” he asked. 

“Dean… All I do is hurt you and hurt Sam. Over and _over_ and... I honestly don't understand why I've been allowed to stay this long—”

“We're not _allowing_ you to stay!”

_“Then I'll leave!”_

The open pain tearing at his face, even in just the slice of profile he could see, it cracked something in Dean.

“Then I’ll leave…” Castiel repeated into Dean's silence. “I’m only hurting you all.”

“What? No…” Dean fumbled for the words, “No, Christ— That's not what I— That’s _not_ what I—” Goddamn stupid _shit,_ why couldn't Dean stop saying stupid _shit?_

“Dammit, Cas!” Dean spun him around, gripping him by the shoulders, _trying_ to look him in the eye. “This your home too! It's been your home too for years, and you know that! You're not ‘just staying for now,’ you're not 'just here for now' like Donatello was, or _Ketch,_ or-or _Kevin_ — was… Kevin...”

Terrible realization dawned on Dean.

“Wait, do you think—?” His hold on Cas loosened. “Do you think we ‘let you stay’ because you're _useful?”_

Castiel stared at the floor.

“God, Cas…” Dean fell back a step as he ran a hand over his face. “No, god, Cas, no…” He ducked behind his hand, then lowered it to his mouth. “Sam and I don't— Where is this coming from? How long have you thought that?”

Castiel’s silence spoke for him.

 _Always,_ it said.

“No, Cas, we don't— We _never—_ You're _family,_ Cas—”

Castiel’s fist clenched.

“No… You know we care about you. You know we want you around…”

Castiel just stared at the floor.

A trickle of anger entered his stream of horror, “No! I _know_ that you know! You said it yourself, Cas! In that barn— with the lance and— You _know_ that we want you here!”

Nothing. Nothing was enough and Cas _still_ wouldn't look at him. He just wanted Cas to look up.He _needed_ Cas to just  _fucking_ _look up at him—_

“Fuck, Cas! _I_ want you here!”

There. Right there. Something changed in Castiel’s face.

So Dean took a breath and went for broke. “And I have _never_ thought of you as just _‘useful’._ Not once. Not _ever.”_

Finally, hesitantly, Cas met his eyes.

Dean couldn't read his face. Surprise? Happiness? Maybe even fear? Whatever it was, Cas’s wide eyes sent an unexpected deluge of relief flowing through him.

A flood that pooled in his gut and hardened into a thick sludge of guilt.

“Damn it… Cas, I am so sorry,” he said around a lump forming in his throat. “I thought you knew. I never thought you didn't kno—”

Cas fell forward and threw his arms around Dean, pulling him into a crushing embrace.

And Dean returned it, squeezing his eyes shut, fighting the burn behind them. He put as much as he could into this hug, _I'm sorry, I'm so sorry._

And Cas answered with an extra squeeze, _Thank you._

When they pulled apart, Cas’s hands held tenatively onto Dean's shoulders.

“Not once?” he asked.

Dean huffed. “Ten years, not once.”

The way Cas looked at him then— it was suddenly too much. His stomach did a somersault and heat crept up his neck.

“Not that you're _not_ also… you know. Because you _are!_ I mean, hell, I'd pick you in a fight any day!" Dean found himself babbling. He could feel himself tripping and tumbling, crashing face-first into stupid, but hell if there was anything he could do to stop it now. "You and Sam, I mean. And even then— Dude's great and all but can he bench press a bus?” Dean laughed, short and humorless. “I just mean, you _are_ awesome. You are, don't get me wrong. Just not _only_ awesome… You know?”

One of those little smiles was forming on Cas's face, and Dean shuffled on his feet at it. The moment seemed to be passing quickly, but then again, Cas looked like he might want to say something else—

“Beg your pardon.”

Dean spun around at the voice.

“Yes, sorry there, but,” Ketch raised an apologetic finger, his head poking around the corner, “but, ah, your boy’s awake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A Mhaighdean_ = Literally: "O Virgin," an exclamation similar to "oh no!" or "my god!" 
> 
> _maighdean_ = "maiden" (say it out loud, "mai-dan," get it?) and then _Mhaighdean_ or _Mhaighdean Mhuire_ = "the Virgin Mary" (which because of grammar and plus the Ulster dialect for Bris becomes wai-djen wi-reh as opposed to mai-den mui-reh. Those extra H's represent a punctuation called séimhiú [shai-vu] which change the sound of consonants. But you can still hear the original borrow words they came from in there: Maiden Mary - Wai-djen Wi-reh)
> 
> #Language is infinitely fascinating #What's with all this English in my Irish #The answer is colonization but moving on...


	2. Chapter 2

Dean and Cas rushed back to Sam's room. Even still unsteady on his feet, Cas entered the room first, and Dean shut the door behind them— right in Ketch’s face.

Dean shot Bris a Look.

“Well if he's gonna stand out there eavesdropin' with his heart carryin’ on like a damned rugger bugger, I thought I might as well put him to work,” she answered before Dean could ask.

He approached the end of the bed as Cas rounded to the side opposite of Bris, and released a breath of relief when Sam turned his head and blinked up at him.

“Heya, Cas!” Sam smiled. “What’re you doin’ in m’room? Bris's here, man, c’mon...”

But Cas was busy checking Sam over, opening his eyelids, spreading the fingers in his hand, taking his jaw to look at his throat—"'Ey...!"—finally placing his hand on Sam's forehead, causing Sam to frown as he tried to look up at it.

“Thank goodness, his memories are intact," Cas said. He looked over to Bris, "Has he said anything about it? Have you told him anything? How was he when he woke?”

“Well he ain't speakin’ too well," said Bris, "but otherwise he just looks like he’s comin' 'round after a bender to me.”

“Hey, that’s great,” Dean said, now moving to stand next to Cas. “Right? That's good?"

Cas’s palm lit with grace, though the glow was noticeably fainter than before. “H-hey! That tickles!” Sam giggled, squirming away from it.

"I believe so," said Cas. “His neural pathways are already healing. I just need to recuperate and then I can—”

“Hey, yeah, you rest, man.” Dean placed his hand on Cas’s forearm. “You go rest, you've done so much already.”

Cas paused, then he looked up at Dean, with those soft little crinkles forming at his eyes, and Dean knew he needed to say something else...

Needed to say something...

 _Say_ someth—!

*Um— Thanks, Cas,* he mumbled. Then he cleared his throat and met his eye, “Thank you, Cas.”

And Cas’s head tilted with one of his little half-smiles— the one where his teeth peeked through, the one Dean didn’t get to see very often— and completely inappropriate for the moment, but barging in anyway, the damned butterflies _surged,_ kicking a huffed, faltering smile out of Dean as well.

And if the two of them hadn't been so wrapped up in themselves, they would have seen Bris’s warm smile, too.

“So. Yeah,” Dean blurted, jerking his hands back and taking too many tries to find his pockets. “You go rest, okay?”

Cas nodded, that little smile still stuck on his face. “Yes. I’ll… I’ll go to the library, I think.”

“Yeah. Great," said Dean, rocking back a bit on his heels.

Cas didn’t move to leave.

“Oh! Geez, right—” Dean backed out from where he was trapping Cas between the bed and the wall. “Right— Sorry— Yeah.”

Cas moved past him toward the hallway, but he paused at the door, turning back with a last fond look at them all. Then he left for the library, leaving the door cracked open behind him.

Dean stared after him for a moment, then caught himself and pulled his attention back to Sam.

Only to finally notice the way Bris was looking at him.

“What?” he snapped.

“I didn’ say nothin’," she answered, completely failing to suppress the wry grin on her face.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

One minute, Sam was sharing a beer with Cas, the next, he was reliving every single thing that had happened in Hell.

The _next,_ though… He remembered… a vague sense of rising? But now he was still again, mostly aware of the golden glow of his bedside lamp seeping through his eyelids, though he hadn’t realized it was missing until it was back.

Then someone squeezed his hand, and he ran through how to best tell Cas that it was a little odd to hold hands while sharing beer.

*Hey... you comin’ back there, love?*

Wait… that wasn’t Cas…

 _“Nnh..._ buh I didn’ go...” He tried to open his eyes, but they were so heavy...

That someone whispered something he didn’t understand, and a hand cupped his cheek, warm, just a little rough, and it filled him with the kind of tittering joy he might be a bit sheepish about if he had the energy to give a fuck.

“Hey, Bris,” he said, and leaned into her. “Did I pass out r’somethin’? On’y wan’ed two beers!”

Her hands tightened on him, “Didja pass—!  _Christ,_ boy…”

She sounded worried. Sam didn’t like that. He forced his eyes to open, weight be damned.

And there she was, leaning over him with those deep brown eyes and that long, long flowing hair. He blinked until he could focus, and found that she looked just as worried as she sounded.

“Hey, wha’s wrong?” Sam asked, his free hand rising to brush his fingers over her hair before he even had to ask it to. “R’you ok?”

 _There_ was that smile. The one he already knew he’d never get enough of. The one that meant he’d said something good.

“'Long as this Hail Mary worked then nothin’s wrong an' I'll be fine.” She bent down to kiss his forehead. “Now you hold on just a tick here,” she said, then straightened up and turned away from him. 

 _“Oi,_ you limey Sasanach!" she barked at the door. "Go make yerself useful and get them boys back here, yeah?”

Sam snorted. “Whassa sassa-sass?” he tried valiantly.

Bris smiled down at him. “It's jus’ another way to say ‘bastard,’ love, don’t you worry about it now.”

He grinned wide, his head tipping toward her. “Love it when y’ curse," he said, "s’ hot.”

That one smile returned, and her hand came up to push back his hair. “Well then, I’ll be sure to do it all the _fuckin'_  time, darlin', just fer you.”

He could have stayed like that forever, but he only had a moment to savor the way she was looking at him before his room burst into a flurry of action. There was talking, and people moving, and Cas showed up for real now, poking and prodding him and tickling his forehead with his grace. Then as quickly as he came, Cas was gone, and it was just him and Bris again.

Oh hey, wait, no, Dean was here, too.

“Hey, Dean,” Sam said as he tried to sit up. He still fumbled, but found that some of his strength had returned. “Hey, why d’you guys keep barging in? Do we have a case or something?”

Standing at the foot of the bed, Dean sighed, his whole body sagging. His shoulders drew tight and he crossed his arms. “What do you...?" he started, but he paused, glancing down for some reason. "Look, tell us what you remember, Sam.”

“Remember? Um, well... I had a hell of a nightmare last night, nothing new there. Had some beers with Cas before that, talked about...” Sam had managed to fully sit up, and now realized that Bris wasn’t in the bed with him like she should be, but was instead standing next to it. And Dean had this look on his face that said Sam was missing something, something that wasn’t good.

“Shit. That wasn’t a nightmare, was it?”

“No, man, you had a— I don’t even know what the hell just happened. None of us do.”

“Oh. Great,” Sam huffed, absently rubbing his stomach. “Man, I think I might have gotten some bad sushi, too," he said. "Guess we should have stopped somewhere nicer.”

Dean was still giving him that look.

“...It’s not the sushi, is it?”

“Sam, we had to— Cas had to— Yeah, again, I have no idea what he really did, but I think he just jump-started your fucking soul, man.”

“He— What?”

“I really, really don’t know.”

“...Fuck,” Sam sighed. He looked at Bris and Dean again, at the way they were looking at him in return. "But, I mean, I’m okay now, though... right?”

“Cas seemed to think you were okay, for now," Dean said. "Said he’s gonna come back to give you another dose of mojo, though, but your memory's intact and your 'neural pathways are healing'.”

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"And it was... it was just me? You guys are all okay, right?"

Dean huffed with a shake of his head, uncrossing his arms. "Yeah, Sammy, we're all fine."

"Good, good," he said on a breath of relief, squeezing Bris's hand. His eyelids began to droop, “It's just that I… I'm  _really_ tired. So maybe we could figure this out later this...” Sam scrunched his face. “Wait, what time is it even? How long was I out?”

Dean glanced at his watch. “Motherfucker, you were only out for like half an hour, max.”

“Shit, feels like so much longer...” He rubbed at his eyes. “So could we figure this out in the morning? Am I clear to sleep?”

Dean looked between him and Bris, and finally relaxed. “Yeah... I’ll— I'll check with Cas but, should be fine. We’ll figure this out in the morning.”

"Thanks, Dean."

Dean nodded in response. Then he ducked his head and shifted on his feet a little, arms coming up to cross over his chest again. 

*Uhm... glad you're okay, Sammy,* he mumbled.

Sam couldn't help his little smile, "Thanks, Dean."

Dean shifted again, suddenly shoving one hand in his pocket and jabbing at Sam with the other, "Alright, now you keep your phone nearby, okay? Me 'n Cas'll be here all night, we're not goin' anywhere."

"Okay, Dean."

"Seriously, holler if you need anything. I'll freakin' bring you a warm glass of milk if you—"

 _"Okay,_ Dean."

He nodded again, quick and jerky. "Right," he said, and took a few steps back, "Yeah. Right."

He looked between the two of them again, then turned away to leave—

But he stopped.

Dean crouched, he crept silently over to the cracked bedroom door, raised a hand to the handle, and flung it open.

 _“I swear to god I’m gonna throw your ass back into Hell myself, you—!”_ he yelled, but he slammed the door behind him, cutting off the rest of his threat.

Sam spared only a moment to wonder who Dean was shouting at before giving his attention back to Bris. “You coming to bed?” he asked, tugging gently on her hand.

“Yeah,” she smiled at him, “Yeah, a’course.”

As she undressed to her tank-top, Sam noticed that her pants hadn’t been buttoned, and her overshirt was all kinds of disheveled.

“Guess it was pretty bad, huh?” Sam asked.

She followed his gaze. “If I’d’a known what was actually happenin’ I’d’a run straight out in my skivvies,” she chuckled, but it was weak.

"I'm sorry," he said, lifting the sheets for her to join him. He realized he was still fully dressed, and made quick work of getting down to sleep-wear, placing his phone on the beside table like Dean insisted. 

Bris frowned at him as she climbed in, “The fuck are you sorry for?” she asked.

Ah, and there it was, a question. For a short while there Sam had been graced with the luxury of forgetting he was wearing the necklace.

“For putting you through whatever this was," he answered, his response at least coming easily. "You didn’t sign up for this kind of shit.”

Bris just raised an eyebrow at him.

“After everythin' you been tellin' me you lot get up to, I'm pretty sure I know exactly what ‘kind of shit’ I done gone and signed up for.”

Sam chuffed with a small smile, looking into her eyes. “God, I don’t deserve you.”

 _“Ach,_ ye can fuck right off with that kinda talk,” Bris scoffed as she settled back into the pillows. Sam followed her, slipping his arm behind her head. “Had about a month a’ that crap in my own gourd an’ I'll tell ye, I’m right tired of it.”

“Fair enough,” Sam said, grinning into her hair. “In that case, I’m the best and I deserve everything ever,” he kissed the crown of her head, “and so do you.”

 _“There_ we goes, see? That’s more like it," she sighed as she hugged him tight, pulling herself a little closer.

Sam's smile only grew wider, and he reached up to switch off the lamp, bringing his hand back to lay on top of Bris's on his chest.

But just as he was about to drift off into some very welcome sleep, Bris shifted against him, and said into the dark:

“I, ah, I knows you can’t promise it, but... I’d sure appreciate it if you never did that again, yeah?”

Sam chuffed and squeezed her hand. “Promise to do anything I can not to.”

She hummed into his shirt. “S'pose that's all I can ever ask for,” she said.

And they fell asleep together, their faces each lit with matching little smiles.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

The next morning was far calmer than the night before.

Too calm for Dean.

Sam slept in _way_ later than usual, and that set off his alarm bells. But as he was making breakfast for everyone, Cas assured him that it was fine, expected even.

“His neural pathways need to mend and reconfigure, and sleep is when the human brain performs such tasks.”

Dean looked Cas up and down. “So, what, is that why you don’t sleep?”

Cas shrugged. “I might as well ask you why you don’t Harmonize your innate being with your brothers and sisters. It’s just not something you do.”

"Oh." Dean squinted down at the pan he was making French Toast in. “...Huh.”

Fortunately, Dean didn't have much longer to worry, because Sam and Bris soon joined them— all smiles and holding hands— just as he was finishing the last batch of toast.

Dean glanced at them as they sat down at the island. “Christ, could you at least save the goo-goo eyes for the bedroom? You’re gonna make me lose my appetite here.”

Sam opened his mouth, but Bris beat him to it, “Eff off, ye ponce.”

Cas twitched. With the urge to laugh or with concern for his reaction Dean couldn't tell. Not that it mattered, like half the shit Bris said, Dean didn’t even know what that meant.

“Prick,” he tossed back, grumbling at the pan with a smirk playing at his lips. Bris grinned behind him.

When Dean next turned around he slid a plate piled high with toast across the island and took a seat for himself. At the sight of the heaping mound, Sam lit up like Christmas, and immediately started to load his plate.

“What’ve you done to this bread?” Bris asked with genuine curiosity.

“Have you not had French Toast?” Sam beamed at her. “Oh man, okay, you’re gonna love it.” He served her a few pieces and snatched up the maple syrup, drowning his own slices in it. “This was our big, special treat when we stopped in a place that actually had a working stove.”

“It's about the only thing you're  _supposed_ to make with stale bread,” Dean said.

Bris looked between them, but seemed to let the matter drop. She looked over at Cas still standing against the counter, “You gonna have some of this? Or is it really that bad an’ they’re pullin’ my leg?”

“I don’t eat,” he answered.

“Oh,” she said, and shook off any shock with a tip of her head in quick understanding. 

She raised a skeptical eyebrow at Sam's plate, now positively swimming in maple syrup. “Are ye supposed to do that with it? Small wonder you all have diabetes over here.”

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yes, that's what you do with it," he answered, and handed her the syrup with a quick peck on her cheek.

*Gonna give  _me_ diabetes in a minute,* Dean mumbled.

He was saved from another verbal jab out of Bris when Ketch popped in.

“What, no coffee?” he pouted.

“Well, _no,_ Ketch,” Dean said, his voice dripping with as much saccharin as Sam's plate as he turned and made a grand gesture at the pot, “but you're more than welcome to make some your  _own_ damn self.”

Ketch just rolled his eyes and headed for a cupboard. “Well if there’s a choice to be had, I’d rather make some tea.”

“Don’t got any tea.”

 _“There’s no tea?”_ Ketch and Bris gasped.

The two British Islanders eyed each other warily.

 _“No…”_ Dean said slowly, shifting his eyes between them, “but, _again,_ you’re more than welcome to go get some for your own damn self.”

Ketch briefly broke his staring contest with Bris to glance in the direction of the bunker door. His eyes narrowed. “I’ll get you the money.”

She nodded curtly.

Then before Dean could stop him Ketch snatched a piece of toast off the plate and vanished.

Dean glared after him. *Threw all the tea in the goddamned harbor, you goddamned pansy-ass European dickw—*

He caught Bris’s Look and cleared his throat before she could say anything. “So. It’s morning, Sam! We gonna figure this out?”

The inscrutable contentment on Sam’s face slipped a fraction, and he set down his fork.

“Yeah, I suppose we should,” he sighed. “But where do we even start?”

“Well, seems to me we ought to figure what caused all this in the first place,” said Bris.

“I think—”

“It had to be that fuckin’ witch’s curse,” Dean said, stabbing his toast with more force than was strictly necessary. “And she said she used  _that_ fuckin’ necklace to kick it off, so I say first on the to-do list is we gotta get that thing off you.”

Sam looked down at it. He fingered the necklace. “Dean, look…”

Dean leaned forward as Sam trailed off. “'Look,' what?”

Sam glanced at Cas and Bris. He set his face, and pushed on. “Dean, most of what that witch said was crap. Absolute shit.”

“Yeah. You keep sayin' that, Sam.”

“Because it’s true!”

“Right. Sure.  _But…”_ Dean nodded promptingly at Sam.

Cas met Sam's next glance. He gave an almost imperceptible shrug. 

_Dean would want to help..._

_“But…”_ Sam continued, “I mean, she was right when she said… that I’ve been…  _dealing_ with this, for a long time.”

Sam's knee bounced on the stool. Bris reached out and took his hand.

“This didn't just go away,” he pushed on, “I thought it did. I hoped and I prayed that it did. And it seemed to get better, but... it never went away.”

Dean nodded minutely, “So I did ignore how messed up you were, and I pushed you right back.”

“Fuck, no, Dean!” Sam said so sharply that Dean flinched. “That witch was full of shit! She saw what she wanted to see: a way to hurt you through me. I mean— goddamn it, that's not even what I just said, are you even listening?”

“Sorry, Sam, I—”

“No, don't—”

“Let me apologize, Sam—”

“No! I don't want your apologies!”

Dean recoiled, and Sam glanced at Bris and Cas again. At the looks on their faces, he pulled himself back, and said more calmly, “I don't want your apology, Dean. I want you to understand.”

Dean twitched with a frown.

“Look, Dean... this thing might never go away,” Sam continued. “Even if we find some sort of solution it probably won't ever really go away. But that doesn't mean you failed.”

Cas shifted on his feet.

“No-no-no, hey,” Sam held up a hand at him, ”I know what you're thinking. This isn't your fault, either. You helped, Cas, you helped so much—”

“Sam, you don't have to—”

“No. Stop. Don't put this on your shoulders.” He looked between them both. “Do  _not_ put this on your shoulders. If this goes on anyone it goes on me, okay?”

Bris’s face twitched and her hand squeezed Sam’s. He continued on despite it.

“I went into the Cage. I made that choice. And you both have tried so hard to help since then, even through all the crazy shit. So damn it,” his hand balled into a fist, “I don't want to hear who's fucking fault it is anymore. I don't want any damn apologies. I'm going to keep dealing with this and you're just going to keep helping me through it. Got it?”

He looked between them. Dean and Cas just nodded, each a little wide-eyed.

“Good.” Sam gave a short huff. “Good. Now, uh, eat your damn breakfast.”

Dean tossed his eyebrows and picked up his fork wordlessly.

Sam glanced down at his chest and fingered the necklace again. “We do need to get this off though. I'm definitely not going into Hell with this on.”

The room went silent.

“Oh no, hell no.” Sam looked between them all. “You are not leaving me behind. We need to rescue Gabriel!”

Cas spoke up, “Sam you're in no condition to—”

“Don't even give me that, have you looked at yourself? You’re not going to be any use eith—”

“Hey!” Dean snapped.

Sam’s eyes skipped to Dean, “What?”

Dean fidgeted with his fork. “Cas has already helped your ass plenty. Lay off.”

While Sam and Dean were focused on each other, they didn’t see the corner of Cas’s mouth tick up.

Sam relented first. “Sorry, Cas.”

“Thank you, Sam, but you  _are_ right. I'll be no help either in this condition.” He looked out at everyone else. ”Perhaps we all need to rest.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Dean tipped his head with a nod. “Would give us some time to figure out what that thing is,” he pointed at the necklace with his fork, “haven’t really tried in a few weeks. We should call Crowley. He knew what it was and he can’t use that ‘one favor at a time’ excuse again.”

He missed Cas’s cringe, but Bris didn’t.

“There’s that name again. Who’s this Crowley fella?” Bris asked.

Sam tried to think of a succinct way to answer her, and failed. “That… is a very long and very weird story,” he answered.

Bris turned to him, an eyebrow raised. “An' you’d rather I didn’t know.”

“I mean, well, you’re not gonna like it. Or him.”

Bris turned to him on her stool, "You know, love," she said, danger glinting in her eyes, "this plan a’ yours to keep me in the dark about all this crap ain't gonna work.”

Sam glanced at Cas and Dean. They offered no assistance. “Plan?”

“Yeah, this keepin' me shielded crap. I mean, this shit’s gonna keep comin’ up, isn't it?”

“Probably,” Sam answered. He winced.

“Well then ye might as well bring me into the loop. I don't wanna be coddled any more’n you do.”

“Oh." Sam stared at her. "Uh..."

“Right, you catch her up on all that,” Dean jumped in, standing with his plate and taking it to the sink, “I’ll clean up here and give Crowley a call.”

“Wait, you made breakfast, Dean, I could—”

“Nope,” Dean turned and pointed at Sam, “you’re in official recovery mode now. Besides, you never do the dishes right, anyway.”

“Wha— Well why would I clean the bottoms of plates when only the tops had the food on it!?”

“Because it’s called not being disgusting, Sam, now get the hell outta here.”

Sam gave a loud sigh and rolled his eyes to the ceiling, spinning off his stool to leave the kitchen.

Bris stood too, but she stopped, turning back to Dean and pointing after Sam. “He don’ do the bottoms?”

Dean huffed in annoyance, “I  _know,_ right?”

Bris just shook her head with a smile, and left after Sam.

As Dean started gathering dishes to the sink, Cas, still at his place against the counter, watched him and said thoughtfully, “That was the most productive discussion we've ever had.”

Dean glanced at him. “Oh yeah?”

“Yes. We should do that more.”

Dean snorted. “What, bare our guts to each other over breakfast?”

“The meal doesn't matter.”

Dean rolled his eyes and continued scouring the kitchen for dirty dishes.

After a moment, Cas added, “I like Bris.”

Dean couldn't help a little smile. “Sure hope so. Did you see Sammy’s face? I’m thinkin’ we're gonna be stuck with her.”

“Do you not like her?”

He sighed, drooping with a plate in his hand. “No, of course I like her, Cas. That was just more… Damn it, don't worry about it.”

They fell into a silence as Dean ran the water to fill the sink.

But something was off. Mr. Master-of-Comfortable-Silences was creating a very uncomfortable silence, indeed.

“What’s wrong, Cas?” Dean asked.

“Nothing,” Cas clipped.

“You know you’re a shit liar, right?”

“That’s not true—”

“Cas. Buddy. I'm already exhausted in the emotions and crap department, so seriously, please, just tell me what’s wrong.”

Cas shifted his weight, but he seemed somehow relieved. “Do we... have to call Crowley?”

Dean used digging the dish soap out of the cabinet as an excuse to think about that. The question was hitting him odd for some reason. “Obviously I’d rather not have to ask for his help again, but he said he knows what that damned necklace is, and we want that thing off of Sam, pronto.”

“Perhaps we missed something in the archives.”

“The three of us went through those archives like twenty  _billion_ times in the last month looking for shit on the Seal of Solomon. Seems like at least one of us would have noticed anything on the amulet.” Dean picked up the scrub brush and set to work. “Crowley’s just faster than checking again.”

Cas was still standing too stiffly, but he said, “Yes. I suppose it would be more efficient that way.”

Dean looked over at him, pausing his scrubbing. “You’re gonna check anyway, aren’t you?”

Cas didn’t answer.

Dean chuckled down at the sink. “Suit yourself. I'm not gonna stop you.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cas give one of his patented little smiles.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

Calling Crowley shouldn't have been hard. But Dean’s gut clenched every time his thumb hovered over his name in his phone.

The fuck was this? Nerves? Over Crowley? God, what the fuck?

He forced himself to hit the call button.

Crowley picked up on the second ring.  _“Took you long enough.”_

Dean sighed at the ceiling. “Hello to you, too.”

_“Take it you’re ready to get this Hell show on the road?”_

“Yeah, about that.” Dean started to pace. “We got sorta... banged up on our last— thing.”

_“You know lies of omission are still lies.”_

“You would know.”

_“Your point?”_

Dean sighed again. “You said you knew what that thing around Sam’s neck was.”

_“I did.”_

Dean waited for the explanation that never came.  _“Okay..._ Do you think you could tell us what it is?”

_“Of course I could.”_

Dean waited again. “But...?”

_“But I can’t do anything about it.”_

“I—" Dean clenched a fist near his face and forced it back down. _"Fine,_ Crowley. Fine. But if you'd just friggin’  _tell me,_ then I could find someone who  _can!”_

_“Please. I already have that ready for you.”_

“You— What?”

_“All you have to do is ask, Dean.”_

Something flared in Dean’s chest. “You’ve been holding out on something to fix Sam... so you could make me grovel again?”

_“I’ve been waiting for a polite request to provide a favor.”_

Dean gritted his teeth. Fucking _Crowley_ and his fucking _bullshit—_  “Would you  _please,_ tell me what that thing is or who can get it off of him?”

_“I’ll do you one better.”_

Dean waited. He looked around the room, expecting to find Crowley there. “What?”

_“You’ll see. One week.”_

“A week?”

_“I’m a busy man, Dean. I need time to gather these sorts of things.”_

“Gather? You just said it was ready. What, is it a spell? Hang on, are you gonna go kidnap some poor schmuck?”

_“Love it when you get all high and mighty, like you’d never do such a thing.”_

“Do not go kidnapping people, Crowley.”

_“I’m sorry, I can’t hear you over the raging hypocrisy.”_

“Crowley—”

_“Dean.”_

Dean gritted his teeth. He thought he heard Crowley sigh on the other end of the line.

 _“Bloody hell, Dean,”_ Crowley said, far more softly now,  _“just let me help you, you insufferable mess of a man.”_

There was something in his tone, something that Dean hadn’t heard in years, something he’d assumed he would never hear again, and for the first time in all those years Dean really remembered that he used to call Crowley by another name.

And that scared him.

“One week,” he clipped.

And Dean hung up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sasanach (one of many spellings) = A name the Irish call the English, or more specifically, Saxons, as per the Middle Irish word "Saxanach." Typically used with disdain.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Optional Song Link in this chapter. It's for "Ends of the Earth" by Lord Huron.

Overall, the next week was a good one.

On that first day, Cas spent the morning in the archives. Dean tried not to think about it, he really did. He absolutely did  _not_ want to go through those damned folders ever again. But when it became clear that he wasn’t going to stop feeling guilty for not even  _trying_ to help out, he went down there and brought Cas up to search the storeroom instead.

“Sam got the damned thing from in here, maybe there’s more of ‘em. God knows they’ve got twenty of everything else,” Dean huffed at a stack of cursed rings. “Fuck, there’s so much bullshit piled up in here you can’t find the good stuff! I mean,” he picked up a box,  _“why_ were they even keeping all these? Just fuckin’ get rid of ‘em! Make room for the useful shit!”

Cas turned back from his now-meticulously organized pile of lockets. “Perhaps they mistakenly thought they were of importance,” he said with a shrug.

Sam and Bris spent the day in the library, their conversation on Crowley having led to Bris insisting on learning the particulars of fighting demons. So now they were surrounded by piles of books with Sam’s phone sitting between them [softly playing some music.](https://open.spotify.com/track/4yyg2J2uXOjCtCyT64984C?si=X5-4fA6tQ5avlfPq-jTSYA)

“So holy water burns the bastards?” Bris asked, looking up from her manuscript.

“Yeah,” Sam had to answer before he could even look up from his own book on ghosts. “What about it?”

“Well, I'm thinkin'... Have you got any a’ them…?” she made a finger gun.

“Yeah, Bris, we've got guns,” Sam chuckled.

“No, ye langer, I mean them water guns, I knows they got a name…”

“What, super soakers?”

“Yeah! Should carry some a’  _those_ around!” She looked down at an illustration of a devil’s trap. “Should put some a’ these on rugs, too.”

“You’re catching on pretty quick,” Sam smiled.

“Just don’t wanna be the dead link ‘round here,” she said into the page.

The library settled back into a comfortable quiet under the music and the turning of pages.

Bris smacked her hand on the table and Sam jumped. “Salt-filled hula-hoops!”

Sam could only chuckle as he beamed at her, basking in the warmth of her enthusiasm.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

On the second day, Ketch finished the last of the passports for the selkies, and Bris was ecstatic when Sam told her.

“Oh, that’s fantastic! I hafta go thank him!” she burst, and bounced toward the door.

“Hey, Bris, wait,” Sam caught her by the wrist before she could go rushing out to the library.

“Yeah?”

“We’re, um... Okay, I  _probably_ should have explained this sooner, but— We’re not exactly happy to have Ketch here.”

“I mean, I got that much, but he’s helpin’ ye, so—”

“Yeah. And that’s the only reason he’s here. He isn’t a friend.”

Bris flipped to concern. “But he’s  _livin’_ here with ye. You’re lettin’ him  _live_ here an’ he ain’t at least a friend?”

“It’s complicated.  _Really_ complicated,” Sam’s eyes flashed wide. “But— I mean— I’m sorry, Bris, I should have told you right away, but it was just going to upset you—”

“Have I not gotten it through yer noggin yet that I  _want_ you to tell me things?”

Sam chuffed. “I’m sorry. Yeah. It’ll probably stick someday.”

“Damn well better,” she smiled. “So, you thought the fact he ain’t a friend were gonna upset me that bad, huh?”

“Well— See—” Sam stammered. “He’s, um— He’s... an old British Hunter. A member of the British Men of Letters.”

A darkness took hold of Bris’s face.

“...So why ain’t he dead yet?”

“Because he  _is_ helping us,” Sam answered. ”The moment he’s done being useful, he’s toast.”

Her upper lip twisted into a snarl as she moved toward the door again. “Better go check over his work," she muttered. "Pro’ly managed to put the names in backwards,  _an shlíomadóir.”_

His brows arched inquisitively.

“Jus’ another way to say ‘bastard,’ love,” she answered him as she stalked out the door.

They entered the library together, Sam staying a close step behind Bris, just in case.

“So ye finished now, didja?” Bris asked Ketch at the table.

“Indeed I did,” Ketch puffed proudly, either oblivious to or ignoring her obvious seething. “Forty passports, visas, and identification papers prepared for a crowd of mysterious Irishmen.” He looked her up and down. “I take it this has something to do with you?”

Bris didn’t answer him. “You sure you got it all right? Don’t want any funny-business, here.”

“Yes, well, they only have to get past the Irish Department of Defense. Not like you’ll be passing through  _Great Britain,_ or anything. I can't tell you  _how_ many times the Ministry has told those Padd—” He glanced at Bris. “—suggested that the Republic of Ireland increase their protections.”

“Yeah, well, maybe we just likes givin’ our people a fair shake before shivvin’ ‘em.”

 _“People,_ yes.”

Bris bared her teeth. Her fists clenched, but Sam placed a gentle hand around her waist.

“Right. Thanks, again, Ketch," Sam said, "I’ll, ah, talk to you later about Gabriel, alright?”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Ketch nodded with a polite smile. “In the meantime, think I’ll have a look at your library here. You have some lovely scrolls on _all sorts_ of monsters that I haven’t had a chance to read yet.”

He moved off to a shelf as Bris glared daggers into his back. Sam’s arm tightened on her waist. Then she took a breath, and drew up straight.

“By the way,” she said with disconcerting calm, “the price of the tea is higher than I thought it'd be. Gonna need about double now.”

Ketch spun back with a scroll in his hands. “What?”

“Not all that much, really,” Bris said with a sharp smile, “jus' think of it as a back-payment on your rent.”

“Rent?”

“Oh, but don’t worry none now! You only got about nine hundred years more to pay off.”

And with that she spun on her heel and led Sam out of the library with a spring in her step.

Not looking up from his book, Dean piped up from a chair in the corner, “What’s wrong, redcoat, somebody put a tax your tea?”

Cas snorted in the chair next to him.

Ketch just pursed his lips, and left with his scroll.

 

———

 

Later that day, Sam made plans to deliver the paperwork, calling up Inas and Ballo with the good news. Bris was continuing her crash-course through their material on demons, so she only caught Sam’s half of the conversation, but it was more than enough to put a smile on her face.

“Yeah, we’ll be bringing you the plane tickets. … No, of course you don’t have to repay us, it’s all on stolen credit cards anywa— No, I didn’t personally— Look, Inas, I know it’s not terribly nice but— Look, could you just tell me who all is going, please?”

Sam found a pad of paper and started writing down names.

“Okay, now you’re all going to have to remember the fake last names we gave you. …No, Ballo, we didn’t call anyone ‘Murphy’. …Well because that’s kinda obvious, don’t you think? Alright, Inas we need to talk about the airport, it’s one of the biggest in the country and you’re going to need to know how to— Yes I’m very well aware of how old you are, but you’ve never been on a  _plane,_ so— … I seriously doubt you’re going to ‘just figure out’ O’Hare. ...I— Yes. It’s named after an Irish man.” Sam shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, I didn’t do that on purpose...”

Bris chuckled to herself, and counted her lucky stars.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

By the third day, it was starting to feel like a vacation to Dean.

Cas was a damned force of nature in the storeroom. They'd had the whole place properly organized in no time and had concluded just as quickly that there was nothing down there that was going to help them. But even though he was now roped into helping Cas slog through the piles upon _piles_ of files that he had been trying to avoid in the first place... it didn’t feel tedious. It was boring as fuck and he’d rather do almost anything else, but he was working with Cas to try to help Sam, and something just felt supremely right about it.

And that was starting to set him on edge.

Dean was no fool, he knew the patterns of his life. When shit started going good, actual shit was due down the pipeline at any moment.

“That’s highly illogical,” Cas frowned, squinting at him when he tried to explain his growing unease.

 _"Tch._ Whatever, Spock,” Dean grumbled over his thrilling account of the Satyr Management Committee meeting from freaking 1906.

Cas’s brow furrowed. But he quickly brightened. “I understand that reference. Thank you, Dean,” he said, like it was the best compliment he could ever be paid.

And it just wasn’t fair how Cas’s little smile could push away Dean’s worries like that.

 

Later that night, Dean insisted they marathon the original Star Trek movies. Cas loved them all.

 

———

 

That same day, Sam and Bris were back in the library, and Bris was feeling pretty darned proud, if she said so herself.

Having powered through everything they had on demons, she was now moving on to other creatures they were likely to run into soon:

“I’d tell you to just ask Cas questions about angels,” Sam said as he pulled a humongous book off the shelf, “but I don’t think he and Dean are coming up for air anytime soon.”

“Aye, that boy seems like the type would read through the dictionary in a day,” she said as Sam handed the book down to her from his place on the ladder, and, yes, alright, Bris may have taken her sweet time admiring the way his effort played out under that thin long-sleeve shirt he had on.

The weight of the book dropped into her arms when Sam let go, and she nearly stumbled.

“Oh! Lord above, what a tome!” she marveled at it. “All this information here— Can’t  _believe_ we didn’t know there was more than them damned cupids out theres.”

Sam chuckled as he came back down the ladder. “Well before Cas showed up, we didn’t think angels existed at all, so, you know, you were already doing better than we were.”

Bris allowed the book to drop onto the table, so heavy she even felt it through the floor when it landed. “I guess. Though that's not really all that comfortin’ of a— Sam?”

She had turned back to Sam and found him staring, a pained, terribly far-off look in his eyes.

“Hey… darlin', hey…” she said, and reached out to his arm. He flinched and fell back, stumbling into the shelf.

“Fuck! I'm sorry—! Oh Lord, I'm so sorry, Sam—!” Her hands hovered a few inches from him, wanting so bad to reach out but afraid to touch him again.

But Sam was quickly coming back to himself, reaching out for her, and she readily grasped his groping hand. "Fuck, I'm so sorry, Sam, I shouldn't'a—"

“No, hey,” Sam shook his head, “No, come on, don’t apologize, Bris, I'm... I just...” he blinked and tried to push off the shelf.

Bris put a hand on his chest, “Hey, now, jus’ hang tight there a minute—”

“I’m fine,” Sam snapped. He winced. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright, love,” Bris soothed. “But have you, ah… Maybe you oughtta get another dose a’ juice from Castiel, yeah?”

His nose twitched. “I don’t need that,” he said, and he pushed himself back up.

Bris rolled her eyes as he stepped away from her. “Ye know, Sam, I got almost two hundred years on me, and I ain't _never_ met a man who didn’t think they woulda kept the sky from fallin’ if only they coulda reached a little higher.”

Sam’s shoulders dropped. He didn’t turn around.

“Sam…” she went up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist, “don’t you remember what ye told me? Back out in those woods?”

Sam huffed with a laugh. “You’re going to have to be a bit more specific,” he answered.

She smiled into the soft fabric of his shirt. “Needin’ help don’t make you weak neither. You are so strong, Sam. Ye are, but you don’t have to hold yourself so high like this. If'n you keep yourself so stiff and tall this way, you’re only gonna keel over. Even the greatest trees knows what to bend in the wind.”

Sam huffed again and placed his hands over hers. “So you're a poet, too, huh?”

"Nah." She nuzzled into his back. “No, I'm just your mot, tryin’a kick ye in the arse all nice an’ gentle-like.”

“My what?” Sam turned in her arms. “My ‘mot’?”

“Your  _gal,_ ye damned Yank.”

And _that_ put the smile right back on Sam’s face.

He leaned down and kissed her, and when he pulled back it was with stars in his eyes, damned gorgeous things. Then the pleasant hum she heard from his heart drew her eyes down to his chest, and she lifted a hand to it, taking a moment to enjoy the bright colors of his delight, and the whisping curl of his gratification.

“I can’t believe I get to have you, Bris.”

 _“Ach,_ give it some time,” she grinned as she met his warm gaze again, “you’ll wise up soon enough an’ gimme the boot.”

“I really don’t think so,” he said, and he kissed her again, and again, and again.

He agreed to go ask Cas for some help.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

On the fourth day Sam remembered something:

“Fuck! Dean's birthday is coming up!”

Bris and Cas turned to him, Cas having joined them in the library today to continue his research.

“Shit, we have to go to the store!” Sam said, already getting up from his chair. _“Shit,_ he’s gonna be like… thirty-nine or something, how did I almost forget?”

“He’s only thirty-nine?” Bris asked. “How old are you?”

“Yes, and thirty-four,” Sam answered. 

Bris’s eyes went wide.

“What?”

“Nothin’! Nothin', just— thought you was older,” she said, her voice high and strained.

“Is... that a problem?”

 _“No!”_ She shook her head earnestly as a smile tugged at her lips. “No, no, definitely not.”

“Good,” Sam smiled. “God, I haven’t had a chance to do his birthday right in years! Okay, we’re going to need food, and beer—  _lots_ of beer— and, shit, I haven’t even gotten him a gift yet. We can pick up a cake—”

“I could do that.”

Sam and Bris turned to Cas, who looked as surprised as they did that he had spoken up.

“I… um… I’d like to do something, too.” Cas shrank into his chair. “I think I could do that. Make a cake.”

Sam shrugged, “Sure, man, come on, we’ll help you shop for ingredients.”

 

———

 

Dean thought the bunker seemed oddly quiet today. Sure enough, when he came up from the archive with some files he thought Cas might want to check out, he found a note on the refrigerator informing him that everyone else had gone grocery shopping.

“Great, it’s gonna be nothin' but spinach omelettes and Guinness for two weeks,” he grumbled as he took one of the last beers out of the fridge. Then he snorted. “And who even knows what Cas is gonna try to get.”

And yet, as much as he gripped, he couldn’t help but look forward to that surprise.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

The fifth day of their wait, Sam had a relapse.

It was an accident, of course. Dean was chasing Bris around with one of the super soakers they'd bought the day before—  _You know, Kevin did this years ago,_ Dean had said,  _We should have picked it up from him!_ — and Dean managed to score a direct hit. Bris squealed in delight, screaming shrilly at the cold water—

_Thousands of screams echoed in Sam's mind and he was lost, lost in the flood, lost in the barrage of sound that—_

A white light flashed before him. It slid into a pale blue, and his mind was calmed.

Sam blinked as that light faded. His vision slowly returned, and he found everyone was gathered around his chair, Cas withdrawing his hand and flanked by Bris and Dean.

“Sam, I’m—” Bris cut herself off. “Are you alright?”

Sam twisted his answer. “I am now,” he said, absently rubbing at his ringing ears.

It took some placating and a glare of impatience, but Sam got them to back off so he could get up and— he didn’t know— so he could just get out of there.

He left down the hallway, headed for his room— well, his and Bris’s room, now. At the moment, it was at the far end of the hall, having just moved a few days ago. Sam had been grateful then for the discretionary distance it gave them from Dean’s room, but now he sent out a silent thanks to the bunker for the distance it took him from the common rooms.

But when he reached their door, he paused.

His frustration was fading now, his blinders with it, and he thought maybe he should go back. They had been so concerned, so worried, and he had brushed them off, focused on his own need to escape the way they were all looking at him. But just as he was about to turn back, a voice piped up beside him.

“Hey there, love,” Bris said softly.

Sam realized he probably looked ridiculous, standing in the hallway staring at a door. He mumbled something about just thinking about heading back.

Her gaze fell to his chest, and if it was possible, her eyes softened even more. But she didn’t elaborate on what she saw.

“Hows about we try somethin' else,” she said, and took his hand to pull him down, sitting on the floor against the door. He followed her, pulling his knees to his chest while Bris stretched hers out in front of her. “Pretty sure you'd do well just to talk it out.”

Sam sighed even as a small warmth pulled at his chest. What had he ever done to deserve her?

It took him a minute to start, but Bris waited patiently, and he found the words eventually.

“This whole thing is crap and I’m sick of it.”

Bris hummed in agreement, and leaned her head on his shoulder.

“I gave you all that big… speech or whatever about just dealing with it, but that’s… All that did was put you all on high alert. Now you’re all just being so careful around me, like you might break me.” He let his head fall back against the door. “And the worst part is that you might.”

She reached over to take his hand in hers, giving it a squeeze but not saying anything. Sam squeezed back to silently thank her.

“And sure we might get the necklace off," he continued, "but even after that... what we’re doing now isn’t gonna work in the long run. What I'm doing now, what I've been doing for years... it’s just a bandaid, it isn’t a solution. I can’t just keep dodging and hoping. I need something else, but it’s not like I can just walk into a store and pick something up. I just… I need…”

Bris tilted her face up to his. “Help?” she offered.

The necklace nudged his tongue. “Yes,” he answered.

Bris settled on his shoulder again, returning to her role as listener. The corner of Sam’s mouth ticked up and he kissed the top of her head.

“But who would I go to, anyway? It’s the same problem we had before, back when this first started. Who could I even go to? And then, even if I found a civilian doctor and by some miracle I managed to convince them I wasn’t certifiably insane, it’s not like Dean and I have _insurance._ Not like we could afford it if we could even get it. Even our jacked credit cards won’t handle that kind of money and I don’t know if we could  _ever_ hustle enough pool. Geez, it would become a full time job just to do that.”

Sam couldn’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of it. He pulled in a deep breath and looked down at his and Bris’s clasped hands.

“I just want it to go away," he said. "I just want to be fine again. But that feels so selfish.”

Bris popped up off his shoulder. “Selfish?”

“Yeah,” he answered. “Other people have it so much worse than me, and I can’t deal with this? What even  _is_ that shit?”

Bris stared at him.

“What?”

“I just…” she looked down to the floor, “Sam, you should know that Dean an' Castiel told me where this comes from. Where it started. Told me about Hell an' the Apocalypse an'… an' Lucifer.”

Sam groaned. “Of course they did.”

“I’m sorry if they shouldn’t’a, but at the time... They didn’t even really tell me all that much, but from what I got, well you’re just blowin’ me away sayin’ things like other people havin’ it worse.”

Sam set aside his frustration at Cas and Dean for later, and tried to explain. “Well— I made it out, Bris. I’m alive and I’ve still got most of my mind together. So many others… they didn’t.”

Memories of those they’d lost leapt forward, chief among them those of Kelly Kline. Of her body, lying on a bed. Of her eyes, wide and staring at nothing. Sam squeezed his own eyes shut as he mentally closed hers again.

"Everything Lucifer touches he ruins, he corrupts..." Sam said, looking down at that same hand. "But I made it this long... Even though it's bad right now, I've somehow managed to make it this long..."

He flexed his hand, watching it carefully for anything like a tremor or a strain. He was fine for now, but...

“This could pull me out of hunting,” he huffed. “When I was a kid— god— that's all I ever wanted, but now... Guess I should be more careful about what I wish for.”

Bris went stiff next to him. 

*I’m sorry, Sam.*

Sam dropped his hand to look at her, now staring at the floor. “Bris, no, come on—”

“Not for that. I ain't sorry at you, I’m... I'm sorry I did this to you.”

Sam blinked at her. “What?”

“Sam, that witch only got to you ‘cause you was caught up in my load a’ shit. From talk ‘round here I’m gatherin’ that you was in a fairly stable place before she got us at the farm, so this whole mess you're in, it's all on account’a me. ‘Cause I couldn't get my damned head outta my ass." 

“What—?  _No,”_ he said sharply, “no, don't do that, Bris, don't think—"

"If I'd'a just gone with you in the first place—"

"But that wasn't what you wanted—"

"But if I coulda just—"

"Bris, I would do _all_ of that over again. I would come for you, I would search for you, I would find you, I'd even wait for you, too, all over again—"

"What! Why? Why would you put yourself through all a' that when it led right into this sufferin’?”

The necklace had his answer, but he didn't like it.

“I… I don't know.”

Bris glanced down at the necklace, and the look it put in her eyes made Sam want to just rip it off and tear it to shreds with his bare hands.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She huffed and shook her head as she settled back into his side. “Ye got nothin’ to apologize for. It just is what it is,” she said with sincerity.

Sam blinked down at her again. He took his hand from hers and slipped his arm around her shoulders. “How can you wonder why I'd rescue you all over again when you say things like that?”

 _“ Ach,” _she pushed into him and they swayed together, “yer brother’s right, ye  _are_ gonna give us all diabetes.”

“Please, you love it,” Sam smiled and pulled her in tighter.

 _“Ahh,_ come on,” she groaned as she moved to stand. “It’s gettin’ late an’ we’re both right racked. Do me a favor, yeah? Let’s go in for bed.”

She offered him a hand up and helped him to his feet, and they passed through the door together.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

The sixth day was almost uneventful. Dean had his nose buried in an encyclopedia of Roman Gods, trying to find anything helpful on Veritas, Cas was deep into a volume on the nature of cursed objects, and Sam and Bris were doing some prep work for a stew that was going to simmer all day for dinner. Something Bris called a “droolin’ chowder,” full of mussels and crab and a zillion vegetables that Bris assured everyone they were going to love. Cas promised he would try it, and Dean was just happy for a break from doing any and all cooking that didn’t involve the microwave.

But someone had to cut that fuck-tonne of vegetables, so Sam and Bris were at the counter, chopping away, standing next to each other in a comfortable silence.

As they worked, though, Sam couldn't help himself, he kept slowing to a stop and just looking over at her. The lights were laying these golden streaks through her hair, and they were _wonderfully_ distracting. Then at some point, Bris began humming a tune, and Sam didn’t recognize it but it tugged at her lips, hinting at a smile, and that warmed Sam all on its own; he was just so grateful that after the kind of discussion they’d had last night, she was still able to hum and smile.

He realized that since they’d gotten back to the bunker— really since they’d left Illinois together— the heavy shit like that wasn’t even fazing her. She just carried it like a champ and asked for more. More of his knowledge, more of his burdens. And it was all just so unbelievable.

She was right there. She was right  _here._ Not a thousand miles away, not in any kind of trouble. She was here, with him, _his gal,_ in his crazy bunker with his crazy family, who wasn't afraid of his crazy life, who wanted to  _join_ this crazy life, just... here. Just cutting fucking _vegetables_ with him like some sort of actual regular people, and—

Oh

And she was smiling at him.

And the warmth of that smile, the genuine, untempered affection— well his chest felt fit to burst from it, and a lopsided smirk crept up his own face.

She gave him a quizzical look, “What?”

Sam shook his head, just a fraction, “Nothing, just—” he set his knife down and tipped her chin up for a gentle kiss, pulling back only to look into her dark, sweet eyes, “—you.”

 _“Ach,_ ye big softie,” she said as she pushed him back, sporting a full grin now. She turned back to the counter, moving to start up her work again, and just happened to glance down at his chest—

And she froze.

_No—_

_No-no-no, not again—_

“What?” Sam looked down, his blood running cold. “What is it?”

She looked up to his eyes, her own now fully wide and searching. She flicked down and back twice more, jaw agape, breathing stalled, before she grabbed him by his shirt with both of her hands—

—and kissed him within an inch of his mortal life.

They stumbled together into the island, knocking a bowl to the floor with a ringing clatter, their hands flying everywhere; over shirts, through hair,  _under_ shirts—

Bris snatched his hand and dragged him out of the kitchen, making a beeline to the hallway. Sam could only assume she was headed for their room but even as curious as he was, he promptly decided his questions could wait.

Dean and Cas looked up as they passed through the library. Dean returned to his book as Cas tracked them rushing by.

“That seemed urgent,” Cas said as they disappeared from view.

“Yup,” Dean agreed.

“Should we... follow them?”

“Fuck no,” Dean said, and flipped a page in his book.

 

———

 

Sam collapsed on the bed next to Bris, practically gasping for breath through his sloppy smile.

“So... _fuck,"_   he panted, “What...?”

“Wha’s that, darlin’?” Bris breathed.

“Do I… do I get to ask... what that was all about?”

She sighed happily. “Nope,” she declared, and rolled over to curl into him. “No, ye don’t. You’re gonna tell me yourself.”

Sam’s eyes darted as he tried to imagine what the hell she was talking about. “I don’t—”

“I know,” she said as she held him tight, “I know, but you will, darlin'. You will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _an shlíomadóir_ = Literally: that hypocrite. But it's really, actually, just the way to say "bastard". XD
> 
> {Ends of the Earth by Lord Huron}  
> [Lyrics](https://genius.com/Lord-huron-ends-of-the-earth-lyrics) ~ [Song](https://www.pandora.com/artist/lord-huron/lonesome-dreams/ends-of-the-earth/TRvXcPqpJb2rZXg)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a couple of song links. If you can't listen to them or don't want to, the lyrics will be available in the end notes.

Over the last week, a rare happiness had settled over the bunker, a contentment they didn’t usually allow themselves. Cas was looking better every day, Sam was basically holding steady, and Bris was fucking _bouncing_ with enough sheer glee for all of them. Even Ketch was on his best behavior; after he was so blatantly caught eavesdropping and the passports were finished, he’d kept himself fairly scarce the rest of the week, something that sat perfectly well with Dean in particular.

Crowley’s help was on its way, however long they had to wait. And sure, the frustration of not being able to further plan Gabriel’s rescue hung on the periphery, but— more exceptional than the contentment— there was a mutual understanding between them all that they were doing all they could at the moment.

 _Everything_ was going fine, and it gave Dean that ominous feeling, sure, but for these few shining days, everything was actually fine.

So perhaps that was why, when Dean’s birthday rolled around at the end of their week of waiting, he should have expected something like the surprise he received.

Someone knocked on his door, and he didn’t need to check his phone to know that it was still ass-o-clock in the morning.

“Unless the bunker’s on fucking fire, you better fuck the fuck off!” Dean shouted blearily at the door.

The door opened anyway, and who turned out to be Sam said, “Dude, it’s like almost afternoon. We let you sleep in already.”

Dean stretched a hand out for his phone and blinked at the display. Shit. Yeah. Almost noon.

“Fine…” he grumbled as he sat up and stretched his back. “Bet you all need me to make breakfast, huh?”

“No, we took care of that. Come on, it’s getting cold.”

“What?”

“Come on!” Sam snatched Dean’s sweatpants off the end of the bed and threw them at him. “Seriously, get some pants on and get out here!”

Dean didn’t even bother brushing his teeth. The surprise of Sam being involved in the making of a breakfast that was going to get cold pushed him right out of bed and down the hall.

“Come _on!”_   Sam called from the door to the kitchen.

"I'm fuckin' _comin'_ already, Jesus Christ, Sa—"

Dean came to a halt in the kitchen doorway.

At first he passed off what he saw for morning grogginess, but when it didn’t vanish with a rub of his eyes he had to conclude he just didn’t believe what he was seeing.

He found himself faced with an overflowing island and a bombardment of enticing smells. But it wasn’t the quantity of food that was screaming his name, or the variety of plates filled with all sorts of goodies, or even the assortment of beer bottles that threw Dean off his guard.

It was the cake.

“Holy shit,” Dean said as he gaped at it, so brightly colored that the kitchen looked gray by comparison.

“Happy Birthday!” Sam and Bris shouted at him. Cas stood off to the side, looking nervous as all get-out.

“Holy _shit,”_ Dean repeated as he approached the island. He didn’t even reach out to the bacon on the plate right next to his hand, he only had eyes for that _cake._ It was big for just the four of them, at least a whole foot tall, maybe higher. And it was so _bright—_  a fabulous green with trim that shone in a metallic gold. And the icing— Was that, like—? How do you even _weave_ icing? And were those…? Holy shit, the little flowers that Dean had assumed were real were made of icing, too. He reached up a hand, and just barely stopped himself from touching one.

He pulled himself back a step and searched the kitchen. Not a dirty bowl in sight. “How...?” he looked between Sam and Bris, “Just, how?” he asked them.

Sam smiled and tipped his head to Cas.

Cas’s eyes were wide as saucers, his neck muscles pulled taught. His hands were shoved in his pockets and he was just staring, following Dean’s every move.

“You did this?” Dean asked.

Cas nodded.

Dean pointed at Sam, still looking at Cas. “By yourself?”

Cas nodded again.

Dean looked over the cake once more. He shook his head, and a smile began to spread. “Holy shit.”

“Do you—” Cas finally spoke. “Do you like it?”

“Do I like—” his face creased. “Of course I do! Come here, you ass!”

Dean rounded the island and pulled Cas into a hug, not even waiting for him to take his hands out of his pockets.

“Holy shit... It’s amazing!" he burst as he thumped Cas on the back once more. "I mean— holy  _crap—_ did you do all that by hand or with your mojo?”

When Dean looked back at Cas, he realized that had been the wrong question to ask, though he didn’t know why.

“I… Both I suppose…” Guilt painted Cas’s face.

That look switched Dean into damage-control mode, though it was made all the more difficult by the fact he didn’t know what he was fixing. “Shit, it’s fantastic, Cas! God, you blow me away with the shit you can do. I mean,” he bent over to inspect another flower, unable to resist poking at one of them now, “I bet there isn’t a human alive that can do  _that.”_

Cas brightened up immediately and Dean smirked. Nailed it.

Sam coughed from the side. “You know, there is the  _entire rest_ of the table, too.”

“What?” Dean tore his eyes from the cake. “Holy crap! You guys made burgers? Oh  _hell_ yeah, burgers for breakfast!”

“It’s basically lunch now, but whatever,” Sam smiled. “Hurry up and dig in! Then you can open your presents!”

“Presents? Plural?” Dean saw the little pile at the end of the island. Two wrapped in newspaper comics and one in a little green box with a little green bow. Dean's smile only grew, and he bounced over to the cupboard for some plates.

 

———

 

Cas didn’t have much to eat from the fare spread out on the table, though Dean insisted he try the burgers as an impartial judge. Cas assured Dean that Sam had used the same recipe Dean always did, but Dean was convinced his were still better. Cas chose to appease him, and told him that his burgers were indeed better instead of informing him that all he could really tell was that the cow had been raised on a diet of corn chaff. It was times like these that Cas missed his days of ignorance, before his grace had been fully removed for a time and he'd learned what it was to taste in the way that humans did. 

But this wasn't the time for such yearning, so he set those woes aside as he always did.

Cas had known the Winchesters for almost a decade, but they'd never celebrated a birthday like this before, at least not when Cas was around. Usually they had been on the road, or on the run, and Cas had simply come to assume that the brothers just didn’t care about the anniversary of their birth in the way that other people in their culture did. But Sam had insisted that this time be special. Cas couldn't find a reason for this. Dean was turning thirty-nine, and the number itself didn’t merit special significance. This past year hadn't seemed all that different than any other they'd experienced. Cas had even reminded Sam that he and Dean were actually far older than their Earth years reflected— time was experienced very differently in Hell, after all— but to that Sam had told Cas that they didn’t see it that way, that they didn’t count that time, that they preferred not to think about it at all, actually. This day was just going to be special because Sam wanted it to be special for Dean, and nothing more.

So the preparations had begun. Sam and Bris were going to cook the morning of, so most of their other arrangements were finished ahead of time, but Cas’s chosen task required more than just the execution.

He researched for hours. He scoured what seemed to be an entire sector of American culture dedicated to positioning varieties of buttery powdered sugar over equally sweet, unleavened bread. It was overwhelming enough to make him wonder why had he volunteered to do this in the first place. Dean might have  _liked_ a cake from the store. He might not even care. And Cas didn’t even  _have_ half the supplies these websites kept talking about, so how was he supposed to do this at all? What if Cas messed it up? What if Dean ended up hating it?

So finally, he relented. Maybe Dean wouldn’t mind if he used some of his grace to get the layers just right, or the sheen of the gold just so, or add the veins into the petals of the flowers. Perhaps Dean would think he was just... good at it. Or maybe Dean wouldn’t notice at all.

But Dean had noticed. Of course he had, Dean was a keen man. But far from what Cas expected, Dean wasn't disappointed or angry. In fact, he seemed particularly _excited_ that Cas had skirted around typical human techniques, and his wide smile filled Cas’s chest with a warm, fluttering pride.

Sam brought out some candles, one shaped like a three and one like a nine. Only two candles, he insisted, or else they’d all die of smoke inhalation. From how small the candles were, Cas made the assumption that it was meant to be a joke and didn’t correct him.

But then Sam said that Dean needed to blow out the candles and make a wish, and Cas froze where he stood. He hadn't realized they were casting a _spell_ with the cake. Were there ingredients he'd forgotten? He could go get the spell bowl—

But Bris stepped in with a hand on his arm. “It’s just a tradition, lad. Like bumpin’ the birthday boy!”

“What?” Sam and Dean asked.

“You know, we gotta flip him wrong-ways-up and give him his taps on the ground! For good luck!”

The brothers just stared at her.

“What, do you lot not do that?  _Pah,_ you Americans are so damned tame.”

Cas relaxed, and Dean stepped up to the candles after Sam lit them, and his eyes narrowed, presumably contemplating his wish.

His gaze flicked to Cas.

It was less than a second, but Cas knew what he saw. Dean looked at him and no one else and blew out those candles.

Cas squinted. How odd.

Dean tried not to get upset when they finally cut into the cake, saying it was just too awesome to eat, and Cas tried to tamp it down, but his chest swelled again.

Dean opened his presents ravenously. Bris had gotten him a bottle of high-quality whiskey, and Dean was certainly excited for it, insisting they open it right away and each share a glass. This liquor didn’t burn in the way Cas had become accustomed to, and it raised the scent of old, aged wood in his nostrils, reminding him of the tiny temples he used to watch over in the deserts of the Holy Land millennia ago. When he told everyone as such, they stared at him, and Dean whispered, *Awesome.*

Dean opened Cas’s present next. Cas wasn’t well versed in giving gifts, and he had been focusing his energies on the cake, so he had asked for Sam and Bris’s assistance with selecting his present. So when Dean opened the box, larger than the last present Cas had given him, he pulled out the bacon jerky they had picked for him.

It had seemed to Cas to be far inferior to the bacon Dean so thoroughly enjoyed, like the kind they’d had for lunch, but Sam and Bris had been adamant, and it turned out they were right. Dean was absolutely delighted.

But Sam’s gift was next, and it seemed to 'steal the show.'

“It’s a speaker!” Sam proclaimed as Dean turned it over in his hands. “It goes through the bluetooth on your phone and you can walk around with it! Take it anywhere!”

“Oh, sweet!” Dean beamed. He looked up at Sam, “Um... you’ll help me set it up, right?”

“Yeah, of course! Here, give me your phone.”

“Oh, shit!” Dean leapt from his seat as he pulled his phone from his pocket. “I didn’t take a picture of the cake!”

And again, Cas reveled in the warmth that spread through him.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

From there the day was a relaxing one. No research, no troubles, no phone calls. They just shared some drinks and enjoyed each other’s company, and by the evening they found themselves in the library, playing songs over Dean’s new speaker.

The app they were using played all sorts of things for them. Dean had started them off with his favorite songs, of course, but the station started suggesting other genres almost immediately, and it quickly became a game of what crazy thing they could prompt the app to play next. Soon they got into some jazz, and Bris was elated. Then they found some hybrid of jazz and rock, and she was _ecstatic._

[A pounding drumset and a driving buzz](https://open.spotify.com/track/7KNIZlX0pBSBBrkI4d8AHB?si=pzzEEIDwR6eR9iMBpHE_EQ) put a contagious smile on her face, and it seemed she just _had_ to dance along:

 _“I— don't— really wanna wake you,_  
_I just came to get my things,_  
_But the pretty lil' thing lyin' there beside you,_  
_Better take off my wedding ring…”_

The song steamed on and she bounced around the library, her hair flying wildly around her. She quickly picked up the words and at the chorus she ended up singing along:  _“Girl, you gotta wonder, girl you gotta wonder, girl you gotta wonder ‘bout a man like that!”_

The horns screamed high and Sam jumped forward to join her. They flew around the library, arm in arm, making up some sort of dance of their own as they hopped along, Cas smiling and Dean openly laughing at them as they watched.

 

Then the song came to an end, and Sam pulled Bris close.

“You know, you’ve got me all worried now,” he said as he nuzzled into her cheek, “singing that kind of stuff with a smile like that.”

 _“Good!”_ Bris giggled, and Sam just grinned wide and tipped her chin for a kiss.

Dean coughed from the side. “Still here, guys.”

Bris flipped him off from around Sam's back.

The song switched over without their interference this time, and a harsh guitar ground out of the speaker. Heavy, and stalking, it gripped Dean's heart like ice.

 _“The street’s… a liar…_ _  
_ _I’m gonna lure you into the dark—”_

“Change it,” Dean blurted.

Three faces turned to Dean.

“What? Why?” Sam asked.

_An emerald room, a crowd of people— being whisked across the floor and dipped so low—_

"Just— Just change it," he asked, a dark spell having found it's way to his face.

“Sure, fine, Birthday Boy,” Sam said with a raised eyebrow. He went to the phone they were using and skipped the song.

Dean breathed a sigh of relief, pushing those visions away.

The next song aided him in that effort, [a lighter tune, skipping along to a snappy beat](https://open.spotify.com/track/65sB3j3xKDwIhQCKpULSDC?si=-iwVG23ASOWkapCoQDxEEA):

 _“My boy is mad hot,_  
_One touch I’m shell-shocked,_  
_Makes my heart foxtrot,_  
_Non-stop,_  
_Coulda been a one-night stand, oh man,_  
_Coulda been a passin’ thing,_  
_Just a little boom-boom-bang,  
_ _But we keep goin’ again, goin’ again, oh…”_

 _“Ohh!”_ Bris sighed. “Oh, it's  _jus’_ like when I used to go to the clubs!”

She began to sway to the sound. Her hips swinging in half-time, her hands running up through her hair and down again.

And Sam and Dean found themselves entranced. For a few verses they just watched her with their jaws on the floor, certainly not noticing the carefully analyzing squint Cas was giving her.

Sam pulled himself back first. Without looking away, he thumped Dean across the chest. “Dude, stop watching my girlfriend dance.”

“Dude, tell your girlfriend to stop dancing like that.”

Sam watched her body roll like a gentle breeze, her eyes shut and her lips smirking...

 _“...I scoop that ice cream,_  
_He licks the plate clean,_  
_No time just more please,_  
_Striptease,_  
_Want another helpin’ hand, oh man,_  
_Polish every room we can,_  
_Yeah we gotta do the damn thing,_  
_Keep ya mama comin’ again, comin’ again…”_

“...Yeah, I’m not telling her shit.”

Bris followed a turn of her hips to face Sam, and winked. The chorus soared in around them.

*Not a siren my ass,* Dean grumbled.

Bris broke her rhythm at the entrance of the scat singer and spun to Cas. “Lord above, was you around for this, Castiel? Come on!” She leapt forward, taking Cas’s hands, and before he could say anything she had pulled him forward and was trying to lead him in a dance.

“I didn't— I don't—”

“What, did you skip the whole decade? Move that rump, I knows ye can!”

“No, I just— Angels don't dance.”

“Bullhockey!” she smiled up into his face. “You do whatever ye  _want,_ boyo!”

Nobody saw Dean flinch.

“Here, come on, now—” Bris placed his hands for him and started leading him in what Dean could only guess was a sort of foxtrot. Cas put forth an honest effort, but, boy, he was all left feet.

 _“...Oh dang, money in the bank,_  
_Every time I walk I'm on my way, yeah,_  
_Laughin', standin’ in the rain,_  
_Gonna drive a woman insane, yeah,_  
_My fingers followin'... a tattoo of the angel wings..._  
_This devil starts to grin 'cause I'm his favorite kind of sin!...”_

The chorus came again and Dean found he was under another spell, a far better one. Cas was actually kinda starting to get it, and that damned toothy grin was playing on his face again...

Sam turned to Dean with a smile, probably about to crack some remark, but ended up doing a double take at his brother. He blinked, and looked from him to Cas and back again.

“Hey,” Sam nudged him, “maybe you should get out there, too.”

That snapped Dean back. He schooled the initial fear from his face and huffed into his tumbler. “Yeah, no. I don’t dance, Sammy. Not my style.”

Sam snorted. “So what is your style? Creepily watching from the sidelines?”

Dean just huffed again and shook his head. He finished the last of his whiskey and checked his watch.

“Alright, I'm headin' to bed. Crowley said one week, so I guess he’ll be coming tomorrow.”

But just as he was going to move away, Sam slapped his forehead and burst, “Oh my god!”

“What!?”

“We didn’t get you any pie!”

“Oh,” Dean grunted and started toward the hall again. “Huh.”

The concern was clear on Sam’s face,  _“‘Huh’?”_

Dean turned back to him and shrugged. “I mean, I can go get that whenever. What you guys did today? Way better. Like a... a _whole day_ made of pie,” he said with a ridiculous smile. He stepped back up to Sam and clapped him on the shoulder. “Really, this was so great. Thanks, man.”

Sam's own smile returned, “Yeah, no problem, Dean.”

“I, uh…” Dean started, but his words stuck in his throat, and he grimaced at his own impotency. "I... you know,” he dropped his hand from Sam's shoulder. "You know.”

Sam's smile softened. “Yeah, I know, Dean. You, too.”

Dean nodded. He reached out and clapped Sam's arm again, then left down the hall for his room, but not before giving one last warm look to Bris and Cas bounding around the library, each with a wide smile across their face.

The song ended and Bris let Cas go with a laugh, “You'll get the hang of it someday, lad!”

“Perhaps with more of your lessons, yes.” Cas turned back to where Sam was standing and the smile fell from his face, “Oh— Where's Dean?”

“He just went to bed,” Sam jerked a thumb over his shoulder. A knowing smile twitched on his lips. “If you hurry, though, he won't be asleep yet. He only just left.”

Cas brightened and indeed did hurry off down the hall.

Sam raised an eyebrow after him.

“Well what's that look for?” Bris asked.

“Nothing, just...” Sam shook his head, “Does Cas seem... off to you lately?”

“I've spent a grand total of a week livin’ with him in a house the size o’ the Vatican. I know just about jack squat on what’s ‘off’ or not.”

"Okay, yeah, fair enough," Sam chuckled, and reached out to pull her close. The next song had begun, [a quiet one, almost bare in its simplicity](https://open.spotify.com/track/2QgNcjwEn0vGmTommfszQd?si=2BO4e-sUTViaiqG2XFGYyQ), and they wrapped their arms around each other, and began to sway together.

 _"Downtown we let it go,_  
_Sunset high and our bodies low,_  
_Blood rush in the hazy glow,_  
_My hands, your bones,_

 _Loose up we break the scene,_  
_One step deep as you fall to me,_  
_Heart clap, we skip a beat,_  
_Count one two three..."_

Sam continued, “It's just that… Used to be Cas would have asked if that was really okay. If that would annoy Dean. And he made him that insane cake, and he wanted to get him a birthday present...” A stray thought caught Sam, “You can see their hearts, can you tell what's going on with those two? Something new?”

“Well, goodness, there's all sorts of things goin' on, always is in a heart. But Castiel hasn't really changed since I first met you all, an' I can't even begin to make heads or tails of Dean lately, even if I wanted to.”

Sam gave a long, unhappy sigh. “Think those they're ever going to figure it out?”

“Yeah, probably” Bris shrugged. “I hope so anyway.”

Sam looked down and gave her an evil grin, “Think we should do something?”

“Nah,” she said.

His grin fell and Sam raised an eyebrow. “You don’t want to do  _anything_ about it? Like Direl did?”

Bris barked a laugh. “Lord above, Direl. He means well but… Like I jus' keep tellin' him, it ain't my place to shove 'em together. I mean, if they come askin’ fer advice that's one thing but... yeah.”

“Yeah,” Sam smiled sadly. “Just sucks to watch them trip over themselves like this. Used to be all I had to deal with was unexpected staring contests.”

“Well, I s’pose things are just changin’ around here,” Bris said. She wrapped her arms tighter around his shoulders and pulled him closer.

 _“...And don't you stop the music, get into it,_  
_Won't you dance with me?_  
_Find a place and lose it, you can do it,_  
_Won't you dance with me?”_

“Hopefully just for the better,” Sam smiled.

“I sure thinks so,” Bris answered, and pulled him down for a kiss.

 _“Move your feet and feel it,_  
_In the space between,_  
_You gotta give yourself a moment,_  
_Let your body be,_  
_We gotta lose it,_  
_We gotta lose it...”_

Sam rested his forehead on hers, *God, I'm so glad you're here, Bris.*

*Me too, love,* she whispered. *Me too.*

Sam smiled and gave her another sweet kiss. He put a little extra into this one, and was rewarded with the tiniest sigh. It wound its way around his heart, fluttering there, and for the hundredth time this week, Sam just couldn’t believe how lucky he was. He could only wonder how, and wonder why.

 _“...Make a spark, break the dark,_  
_Find a light with me,_  
_Who we are, from the start,_  
_Won't you dance with me?_

 _Make a spark, break the dark,_  
_Find a light with me,_  
_Who we are, chasin' stars,_  
_Won't you dance with me?_  
_Won't you dance with me?...”_

They swayed to the music for a while, just enjoying the feeling of the sound, the rhythm of each other, and they got a little lost in it, in the warmth and happiness of it all, in the peace, and the comfort, and the blessed calm...

 

Which was probably why they didn’t notice the new presence in the room.

 

“My goodness, aren't you two just bonny.”

Sam spun to the voice, pushing Bris behind him. He drew his gun in the same motion, leveled it at the intruder, and fired.

With her hand raised and eyes glowing purple with the mild annoyance of holding the bullet in the air, Rowena arched an eyebrow high at him.

“Well, hello to you, too, Samuel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs in this chapter:
> 
> {Man Like That - Gin Wigmore}  
> [Lyrics](https://genius.com/Gin-wigmore-man-like-that-lyrics) ~ [Song](https://open.spotify.com/track/7KNIZlX0pBSBBrkI4d8AHB?si=AojHZ28LS4ykJdcWybc6Ow)
> 
> {Kill of the Night - Gin Wigmore} (referenced from "Just One Dance")  
> [Lyrics](https://genius.com/Gin-wigmore-kill-of-the-night-lyrics) ~ [Song](https://open.spotify.com/track/2m17BTWlZq0wtS9cpJsCfM?si=tjGuUfESTtaPJi7BWwLVQQ)
> 
> {Tongue Tied - Earl}  
> [Lyrics](https://www.lyrics.com/lyric/34196661/Earl/Tongue+Tied) (Well, mostly. For some reason no one has the right lyrics anywhere.) ~ [Song](https://open.spotify.com/track/49eYx6ZZIVDXFi09z6A7Dc?si=m12PCAaBQrGOJ_2pR5TvFw)  
> The Chorus, that is what I really wanted you to hear when I added the music link:  
>  _This must be love!_  
>  _'Cause every night our words are tongue-tied up,_  
>  _Pillow talk just sounds like double dutch,_  
>  _Like we drank too much,_  
>  _And once we touch,_  
>  _Words come out like:_  
>  Seemed too on-the-nose to put directly into text, you know?
> 
> {Lose It - Oh Wonder}  
> [Lyrics](https://genius.com/Oh-wonder-lose-it-lyrics) ~ [Song](https://open.spotify.com/track/2QgNcjwEn0vGmTommfszQd?si=Aem_-8vUTYWB88YbJDZtUA)
> 
> And these songs are also on the [Mooselkie](https://open.spotify.com/user/1261993671/playlist/17NDAiOUZ0H4MyL38JhOF7?si=mSeJZvRuSwOv-Gn--4EG1Q) Playlist and/or the [A Change is Gonna Come](https://open.spotify.com/user/1261993671/playlist/3MlaOoR1gADgIO8VVDinKZ?si=pKaU5nxfSCeOCEStb7GQcw) Playlist which features every song directly referred to in text.  
> (Yes, I do have a lot of playlists. I defend myself by telling you that I spend my work hours listening to the music around this series, so I end up putting a lot into making and sorting them.)
> 
> Anyway, back to the story! :D


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a background song for Sam like Part 3 did for Bris. Lyrics provided at the end for those who can't/don't want to listen.
> 
> (This chapter has undergone _heavy_ editing since I first posted it. If you'd like an in-depth explanation of why I completely re-wrote half of Sam's demon blood scene, I'm going to make a post about it, which will include discussions on the fetishization of pain, trivialization of illness/disability, and my _complete_ misreading of the Season 8 finale.)

_“Och,_  Sam,” Rowena feigned, “I’m hurt.”

Sam's gun remained trained on her heart. “You tried to kill my brother the last time I saw you,” he said.

“So? You try to kill me and my son darn near every time I see you. It’s practically a courtship at this point.”

Sam didn't see Bris bare her teeth at Rowena.

Rowena sarcastically bared hers back.

“What do you want, Rowena?” Sam demanded, not giving any hint of lowering his gun.

"Oh, _honestly,”_   Rowena scoffed, and with a flick of her wrist it clattered across the room.

Sam snatched the Knife at his belt and dropped to a fighting stance.

“Samuel, you thick, adorable thing, just  _think_ for a moment, yeah? Weren't all that long ago that you helped me, can I not just want to return the favor?”

Sam's brow twitched. "You... could," he had to answer.

Rowena spread her hands in response, her red lips sliding up into a prompting grin.

Sam betrayed a glance down at the necklace.

Her grin grew knowing. “Actually, I like you better with that on. Think we're goin' to work with it for now.”

“So... Crowley didn’t send you to help get it off?”

“Well, of course, that’s what he  _intended,”_ Rowena tipped her head with a graceful shrug, “but it’s not like we can’t kill two birds with one stone, right?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Mm, no... I s’pose you wouldn’t,” she sighed. “You have been neglectin' it for some time.”

That made Sam wince. “Neglecting what?” he asked carefully.

That knowing grin returned. “Oh, don’t play daft, now, Sam, it’s a terrible look on you,” Rowena chided. She shifted her weight to one hip, pointing a finger at him. “There's something in you, Sam, somethin' big, somethin' that’s always been there, and I want to let it out.”

Sam finally lowered his Knife, just a fraction. “You never cared before.”

“No I didn't. One less potential problem on my plate, you know. But now I owe you. And now I might need you. And now, I can do somethin’ about it.”

Sam stood from his stance, but kept his Knife out. “So you'll help me get rid of it?”

“Get  _rid_ of it?" Rowena balked, a hand leaping to her heart. "Might as well cut off your hand!”

“More like take out a tumor.”

Rowena only blinked at him. “I don't know what twisted your mind like that, boy, but _you've_ got a _gift,_ Sam.”

Sam looked back at Bris, who was watching this exchange with a perplexed frown on her face.

As if there hadn’t been enough things that should have scared her off by now, here came one more. Sam could hardly meet her eyes, but he knew he had to say this to her face.

“...Demon blood in my veins isn't a gift, Rowena.”

To her credit, Bris hardly showed a reaction to that. Perhaps her eyes widened a bit and maybe her chin twitched back, but otherwise she just watched him and waited for the discussion to continue.

Dear god, Sam was a lucky man. 

“Demon blood?” Rowena asked, looking him up and down.

“What you're talking about, i-it comes from demon blood," Sam answered, turning to face her again. "It comes from— from Azazel. The Prince of Hell. He... I was... I was a baby, and—”

"A _baby?"_ Rowena burst, utterly appalled. "You've had that blood in you your whole life and you were never treated?"

"No," Sam answered. "Treated?"

"I... My word..." She took half a step back, shaking her head slightly. "Alright— well— No worries. We can deal with that while we're here, but that certainly wasn't what I was talking about.”

Sam and Bris stared at her, both definitely lost now.

“Well I've said it already, you've got a _gift,_ Sam. There's natural talent under there, you just need to embrace it!”

“Natural talent.”

“Of  _course!_ Come now, _think,_  Sam!Why would a Prince of Hell have bothered you in the first place if you weren’t somethin’ special?”

“I don't know, 'cause I’m the true vessel of Lucifer?” he answered.

Sam flinched. He slowly turned back around to face Bris. “I… um…”

This time her eyebrows had disappeared into her hair, but still, when she spoke, her tone was even and cool, “Well... it sure were seemin’ like he had a keen interest in ye.”

Sam could only gape at her. 

“‘A keen interest,’ hell of an understatement," Rowena rolled her eyes, "but I can help you do somethin’ about that, Sam. You were right in what ya told me before: What he did? It won't go away. But you can  _fight_ it.  _We_ can fight it. We can fight  _him._   _Together.”_

Sam was still staring at Bris. He heard Rowena but he only saw Bris, saw her, and the promise he had made to her.

He turned back to Rowena.

“I’m listening.”

 

———

 

Cas walked quickly from the library, soon arriving at his intended destination halfway down the hall. With no hesitation, he stopped, squared his shoulders, and knocked on Dean's door.

The moment he did, though, the doubt began to trickle in.

But he reminded himself of what Dean had said to him a week ago, of how insistent and earnest he had been then, and resolved to hold his ground. 

Dean soon opened his door, adjusting his sweatpants as though he had just put them back on. 

Cas paid no attention to it, far too busy fighting the inexplicable nerves that had suddenly welled up.

“What’s up, Cas?” Dean asked, blessedly without a hint of annoyance in his tone.

“I..."  Cas tried, but his throat was holding his words back for some reason, "I didn’t realize that you were going to bed, and I… well...”

Dean raised an eyebrow slightly. “Yeah?” he prompted.

Cas fidgeted with his sleeve. “...I didn’t actually wish you a 'happy birthday' yet.”

Dean broke out into a smile, wide and charming.  _“Aww, Cas,"_ he teased, "you big softie.” 

Cas’s heart rate increased sharply, though he couldn't discern why. “So. Yes," he forced out. "Happy Birthday, Dean.”

Dean’s eyes softened. His smile did, too. Then he stepped forward out of his room, and pulled Cas into a one-armed hug.

“Thanks, Cas,” he said over his shoulder.

That warmth from his chest threatened to spark. Cas hugged him back quickly, pulling away before Dean fully let go.

“Yes, um— You're welcome," he faltered. "Goodnight, Dean.”

“‘Night, Cas.”

He turned abruptly and headed further down the hall, intent on finding a quiet place to regain control of his vessel. 

Meanwhile, Dean leaned against his door frame, watching him go with an amused look on his face. 

*Dork,* he huffed through a lingering smile, and stood up to shut his door and head back to bed.

_Okay, dude. Seriously—_

Nope. Don’t even go there

_He chased you down to make sure he could tell you 'happy birthday'_

Yeah, 'cause he's _nice—_

_He was shaking—_

He's still _recovering_

_Jesus Chri— You're impossible!_

And you're delusional. Shut up and go to sleep

_Make me, fucker_

Dean reached over the edge of the mattress for his bottle of birthday whiskey and took a few swigs off of it.

And whether due to the alcohol or the bundle of warmth he’d received from this wonderful day, sleep came easily to Dean that night. He drifted off, his earworm swimming in and out of his dreams, and for the first time in a long time, the nightmares truly left him alone. 

 

That is, until the lights began to flicker and flare.

 

———

 

Bris sat cross-legged on the end of the library table, Sam’s gun in one hand and an angel blade in the other.

“Rowena will be faster than you,” Sam had warned her after a crash-course in gun safety. “She’s powerful and—”

“Aye, Sam, I’ve got two eyes,” she had snapped at him, “but I won’t be caught with my pants down. Besides,  _someone’s_ gotta watch yer keester, here.”

“Ah…” Sam had blinked, “alright.”

Rowena had raised an appreciative brow.

Now Sam stood a few feet away, facing Rowena. She was inspecting him, her chin cradled in her palm. Then she began to circle him, checking him from every angle.

Behind them all, still sitting on the table, the speaker dutifully continued on, softly playing something with a heavy beat.

Rowena completed her circuit with a bit of a frown. She turned to Bris, asking her kindly, “What’s your name, darlin’?”

Bris narrowed her eyes at her. “My name’s Bris,” she answered curtly.

Rowena's brows shot up. "'Bris'?"

"Yeah, what about it?"

“Nothin', dearie, it's a lovely name. Now am I right in that you’re a selkie?”

Bris raised her chin defiantly, but she couldn’t keep the surprise from her face. “Aye.”

“Well then, would you just be a dear and tell me what’s goin’ on in there?” She gestured at Sam’s chest. “I can’t make heads or tails of what I’m feelin’ from thereabouts.”

Bris glanced at Sam, silently asking his consent.

“Why do you need to know that, Rowena?” Sam asked.

“Well you see, Samuel, you’re a mitebanged up and I wouldn’t want to go and  _kill_ you with this, now would I?”

Sam’s eyes widened. He nodded to Bris.

“Erm... well..." Bris looked down to Sam's chest. "Not sure how much use what I can sees will be to ye. Alls I can tell you is…” She looked away, ducking her head. “...can tell you is that he’s given his heart to another. That he’s awfully content, and—”

“Yes, yes,” Rowena rolled her eyes and waved her hand, “but how’s the  _state_ of things?”

“Well…”

Sam turned more fully to Bris.

“Well, I’m not sure, really. It looks leagues better than a week ago, but there’s still...” She squinted, pointing with the blade. “Oh, that must be Castiel, there.”

“What?” Rowena turned back to Sam’s chest.

“Don’t know what it’s doin’ up around his heart, but no mistakin’ that there’s what I see in Castiel as well.”

“I _see_...” Rowena said, and began circling Sam again, her heels clicking on the floor. “Well now, that’s either goin’ to make this far easier than I expected, or  _riotously_ difficult.”

She came to stand in front of Sam, her hands held behind her back, and drew herself up to her full height. She pointed at the necklace.

“So you don’t know what this is?” she asked.

“No,” Sam had to answer.

“What  _do_ you know?”

“That it cursed me to answer everyone’s questions,” Sam answered.

“And it demands the truth from you?”

“Yes.”

Rowena nodded. “Well then, I’m wonderously happy to be the bearer of _great_ news.” She flashed a grin at him. “This isn’t a curse, Sam.”

“It’s not?”

“Indeed not.  _This_ is a powerful amulet.”

Sam raised a hand to the necklace. “I mean, I know that. An amulet of the goddess Veritas.”

“What?” Rowena said. But before Sam had to repeat himself she continued, “No, no, no, goodness, no.” She pointed at the amulet again and said with great gravitas,  _“This_ is an amulet of  _Virtus!”_

Sam frowned. He glanced at Bris. She shrugged.

“And Virtus is...?”

“A  _god…”_ Rowena nodded slowly.

 _“Of_ …?” Sam nodded back.

Rowena raised an eyebrow. “Honestly, Sam? Virtus. Virtue.  _Really,_ boy.”

“Virtue? What's that got to do with answering every question that comes my way?”

Rowena fluttered a hand over her heart, “Am I… am I about to give  _you_ a lesson on mythology?”

"Possibly," Sam answered.

She positively beamed.  _“Oo!_ I've kind of always wanted to do this! Oh, yes, alrighty!” She rubbed her hands together and launched into it:

“Virtus is the  _child_ of Veritas. Now  _Virtus,_ as a god of virtue—  _mh,_ or goddess depending on their mood— is concerned with things like honor and valor!  _Bravery_ and strength! Virtus isn't like their mother, they're not concerned with the objective truth.  _Virtus_ wants  _your_ truth.”

 _“My_ truth?”

“If I asked you  _exactly_ how old I was, Samuel, what would you tell me?”

“I’d say that I don’t know,” he answered.

“Exactly! Now that isn’t the pure truth, is it? That’s what  _you_ know. Virtus is after  _your_ truth. Virtus is after honorable people who  _tell_ their truth, who go bravely into battle and uphold their values! Virtus is after the best of the best, is after the best of  _you._ And that amulet is a tool to get you there!"

Sam looked down at the amulet.

“So I’m going to use this, Sam," Rowena continued. "I’m going to use it like a… _mm…_ like one of those posh guide dogs in them wee vests. Thinkin' I can fandangle that angel juice inside a’ you, too. Make it do some of the heavy liftin' there… Yes, if I could just...”

Rowena trailed off and began mumbling to herself, making a verbal list of ingredients she was going to need and symbols she would draw.

 _“Ah,_ yes!” she popped up from where she had been squinting around Sam’s stomach. “Thinkin' we can do this in one big ol’ bang! Now just one moment, dearies, I’ll be  _right_ back.”

“Do you need me to take you to the storeroom?” Sam called after her.

“Please,” Rowena tossed over her shoulder.

Sam and Bris exchanged looks. They shrugged.

She came back only a few minutes later with her arms loaded. She snapped her fingers, summoning a spell bowl to her hand, and promptly thrust the lot of it into Bris’s arms. “Here, take this white heather and tear it into strips, and crush the lavender finely, and then take this agate…”

Bris juggled the bowl and her weapons until she ended up standing over the table crushing flowers, the rising smell proving distractingly lovely.

As she did that, Rowena began drawing a circle in white chalk around Sam. He went to get out of her way, but she held up a hand, “Ah-ah-ah, you stay right there, now!” and continued around him.

Sam watched her with trepidation. “Rowena,” he said.

She looked up at him, “Yes, dearie?”

Sam swallowed. “I’m trusting you.”

She smiled softly, “I know, darlin’,” and began adding sigils and runes to the circle.

Bris handed the finished bowl to Rowena as she stood.

“Ah, good, yes. And we’ll just add this eye of a star, _and…”_  The bowl gave a small puff of white smoke. “Excellent!”

She held the bowl out at Sam and drew a dagger from goodness-knows-where in her dress.

"Oi—!" Bris snatched up the angel blade from the table.

But Sam met Bris's eye as he rolled up his sleeve and held out his arm for Rowena. Bris lowered her blade.

Rowena rolled her eyes at Sam's extended arm. She opened his fist and pricked his finger.

“Ah—! Hey!” Sam whined.

“Honestly, boy, not every spell requires a gallon a’ juice. I just have to tell this one who it’s for.”

She squeezed a drop of blood from his finger into the bowl and gave the contents a quick stir.

“Alright, boys and girls," she said as she stepped back from Sam, "off we go now.”

She took up a position in front of Sam, standing outside the circle, and began to recite her spell. Or possibly multiple spells, Sam caught her switching languages at least twice: a little Latin here, some Enochian there, and a third one he wasn't familiar with.

For all her chanting, though, not much seemed to be happening. Sam looked around the library, but saw nothing unusual. Usually with these spells the sigils would at least glow, or some hum should pick up, or at least a  _breeze—_

_“...erit sanguis ABIERUNT!”_

It _slammed_ into him, a wall of sound and noise and _feeling_ that threw his head back and brought him down to his knees. Like hitting the switch on a speaker, suddenly his head was _filled,_ overflowing, ready to burst with the rush of blood and wrath and _grief_ and _voices_ — Voices creeping in between his swirling mind—  _from_ his swirling mind— whispering and shouting and crying biting words that he knew so well:

Abomination... Monster... Junkie... Selfish— Angry— _Evil— Freak—_

They echoed in his head, over and over, the voices of how many people that had said them to him all his life, hunters and demons, strangers and friends, Cas and Dad and  _Dean,_  each of them trading off to beat them into his head.

But the voices were morphing, they shifted and warped, twisting and merging until they were his own, Sam's own voice, saying these things, over and over and _over_ again until they were just background noise, just a constant pulse alongside his heart, growing and tangling and knotting itself into him, this awful, foreign thing, trying to choke him out and pull him down, and it was winning, it just kept pulling, but Sam _shouted_ and he _struggled_ and he cried out, _No!—_

His vision whited out. For a moment, he didn't breathe. Then, from somewhere deeper than he knew, something rose... something warm, something bright, something wonderful. 

The voice faded out, its tendrils pulled back, and for the first time in longer than he could remember, Sam was quiet. 

Then he noticed, in the softly ringing silence, a light was building behind his vision. The pale blue light was there, it had found him, and it lifted him as it had once before. It lifted him and it surrounded him, inside and out, and Sam swelled with something... something he scarcely recognized:

Pride.

It was truly overwhelming, so warm and complete and without reservation. It enveloped Sam, and it permeated him until he felt nothing else, until he could scarcely remember there ever being anything but this Pride, and Love, and Adoration inside of him.

Then something shifted. Still surrounding him fully, the light turned, it turned and it _surged,_  suddenly off on a single-minded mission, shooting through Sam, seeking out that invader he had nearly forgotten. It quickly found it, and like a roaring tidal wave it crashed into that knotted, tangled darkness. It coated every last length and tendril and bound it. It took its sharp, cutting edges and smoothed it. It restrained the heavy lump, flailing and thrashing as it was, and forced it to still.

And there they stopped, perched in Rapture, and the light Judged it thus, and it deemed the thing wholly unworthy of its weight.

And so the light drew back, rearing, only to attack once more, slamming into every face of the thing like lightning. The mass buckled and was crushed, flattened, made to be so thin it was transparent, and then it was dissolved, it was absorbed, slowly vanishing, until finally,  _finally,_  this dreadful thing was no longer a Trial faced,

 

But a Lie conquered. 

 

The library snapped back around him all at once and Sam fell forward to his hands, his ears ringing and mind swimming and breath coming in ragged, choking bursts—

_“—I’ll GUT you, ye ruddy bitch! Let me GO!”_

Wait. Oh— Oh thank god, wait, yes—

*Bris—* he tried, barely intoned, and his throat tore from it, *Bris— I’m back— I’m fine—*

“Would you  _hang on!”_ Rowena was shouting, “You’ll interrupt the  _spell—!”_

_"Let me GO!"_

Sam forced himself up to lean back on his heels, “Bris—” he rasped.

“Sam!”

“It’s okay—” He tried to take a deeper breath, but it scorched his lungs and sent him into a coughing fit.

_“Sam!”_

“Would you  _calm down!”_ Rowena shouted, and now Sam could see that her hands were raised and her eyes were lit, holding Bris back at the table where she was struggling fiercely to reach him. “He’s just been rebuilt from the inside, of  _course_ it’s going to bloody well hurt!”

Sam tipped his head back and closed his eyes, feeling the wetness all down his cheeks as he did so. The residual pain was subsiding now, and something new was taking its place. 

“God, this is only the first step!” Rowena lamented. “I swear I’m gonna have to send you off if you can’t—”

“Like  _hell_ you will!” Bris yelled.

Sam got to his feet, surprisingly steadily now. He tried that deep breath again, and it felt like a summer breeze, hot and relieving.

“Bris,” he said clearly.

She faced him, and Sam saw the tracks of tears on her own cheeks, saw the pain and fear in her eyes.

“I’m here. I’m alright.” He looked down as he flexed his hands. “God, I’m  _great.”_

“See?” Rowena stressed at Bris.

Sam sighed and tilted a frown at Rowena. “A little warning would have been nice, though.”

“Ah— Yes— well—” Rowena blustered, “Didn’t  _realize_ it would be quite so… ingrained.” She turned to Bris. “You gonna be civil now?”

“Get bent,” Bris spat.

Rowena rolled her eyes, “Just stay out of the damned circle, alright?” and she released Bris, dropping her arms.

Bris immediately took a step towards Sam, but he threw up a hand to ask her to stay back. Her upper lip twitched and fury flashed in her eyes, but she stayed put.

“So that was the first step?” Sam asked as he let his hand fall back, his nerves ringing like a bell when it tapped his thigh. “What’s next, are you going to turn me inside out?”

“There's no need to be crass,” she scolded. *Besides, I basically just did that.*

"What?"

"No, if all goes according to plan, here, this next part should be _far_ smoother.” She bent down to pick up the spell bowl from where it looked like she'd hastily set it on the floor, and turned to Bris.

“Now we’re gonna need your help for this one,” she said, and held out the bowl and the dagger.

Bris glanced at Sam. Sam nodded.

She held out her hand for Rowena.

 _“Och,_ sorry, darlin’," Rowena said. "I’m gonna need more from you.”

Rowena set the bowl on the table and gently took Bris’s wrist. But with that and the sight of the dagger approaching, Sam saw the panic jump and she wrenched her arm back.

“No—!” she burst, her eyes so wide as she clutched her arm to her chest, “Wait— I—”

Sam stepped forward, already moving to wrap her in his arms, to hold her tight and soothe away that look on her face that he now recognized from over a month ago when he had pulled her out of that godforsaken cage. But Rowena spun on him, stopping him from leaving the spell circle with a sharp, "Wait! The spell!"

Sam stopped, his nose wrinkling with frustration.

“Bris," he said gently. She snapped to face him. "It's okay. We'll stop if you can't—"

“What? No!" she cried. "No, I— I _can,_ I swear! I can do it, I just—!" 

“Bris—” 

"No." She squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them again, they burned with defiant determination. "No. I can do it."

“Okay..."

She closed her eyes and breathed, but she didn't move.

"...Hey," Sam said.

She turned to him, her lips pressed tightly together.

"It's gonna be okay," he said. "I promise, Bris, it’s going to be okay. And if it’s not,” Sam turned a scathing glower on Rowena, “I won’t stop until I hurt you a thousand times worse than you hurt her.”

Fortunately, Bris kept her gaze on Sam, and didn’t see Rowena’s _obscene_ eye roll.

Bris nodded, and took another breath for herself, and though she still trembled, she offered her arm back to Rowena.

Rowena took her wrist, positioned her over the bowl, and quickly sliced across Bris’s arm. She hissed as the blade slit her skin and clenched her jaw as she bled into the bowl.

 _“Aaand_ there, see?” Rowena said, and passed a finger over the wound. It slowly knitted together under her touch, leaving a long, dark scab. 

Then Rowena stepped away from Bris, tossing and swirling the contents of the bowl, murmuring something over it, and a faint white light began to glow.

"Hey... Bris," Sam said.

She looked to him again.

"Thank you," he said.

And she smiled, her eyes falling soft on him. "Of course, darlin'."

Rowena, continuing her susurrations, now stepped into the circle. As she did, the sigils and runes on the floor picked up the same white light as the bowl.

She stopped in front of Sam and dipped her fingers into it, picking up some of the rusty, glowing silt. She reached up to Sam’s face, he bent down a bit for her, and she swiped around his forehead, drawing something he didn’t recognize there. Then her fingers nudged his chin up, and she ran a line from there all the way down his throat to his collarbones.

When she finished, Rowena stepped back out of the circle and set the bowl on the ground. But before she continued, she turned to Bris.

“Now I swear, I’ll send you to Timbuktu if you don’t keep your head about you this time.”

Bris just glared at her, agreeing to nothing.

Sam couldn't help a little smirk.

Rowena gave a short sigh to the ceiling, "Fine," and resignedly raised her hands to begin.

Just as she was about to speak, though, from behind them on the table [the speaker switched over to another song](https://open.spotify.com/track/3IVPEWo3ocvmYHTkieGCIz?si=t4IY_Yh3SRe36bRd-e3SaA), big and bold and full of nerve.

Rowena frowned at it and rotated her wrist, turning the volume down to a more tolerable level.

She spread her arms again, and began her spell.

This one was far less complicated, straightforward and purely recited in Latin. An older dialect than Sam was used to, but he managed to understand most of it. Rowena’s tone was smooth and even, almost calm, and as she spoke, the glow of the circle and the marks she had drawn upon him continued to intensify, lighting every corner of the room, soon so bright it was nearly blinding. But Sam kept his eyes on Bris the entire time, and she never wavered from his, a lifeline of support in the sea of white light.

Then, as Rowena’s incantation came to an end, a breeze picked up in the bunker.

“... _Virtus, te rogamus vos.”_

The amulet on Sam's chest picked up the light of the circle, soon shining just as bright. The wind ruffled Sam’s hair as he felt something from the necklace—not the now-familiar tug on his tongue, but the other sensation he'd felt, back in that bar in Illinois with Cas. The sensation of an old friend, reaching out, just wanting to help.

“Are you ready, Sam?” Rowena asked.

Still there was no pull on his tongue. For the second time since he'd put the necklace on, he was allowed to answer purely of his own volition.

“Yes,” he said.

The wind picked up in speed, swirling tightly around Sam. The white light from the floor held its intensity as the overhead lights in the bunker flickered and flared with the waves of magic coursing out from the spell.

“Now… what are you, Sam?” Rowena asked above the din.

The question confused him, vague as it was, but he answered as best as he could. “I'm a… person?”

Rowena rolled her eyes. “No, Sam, what  _are_ you?”

He still didn't understand. But before he could try again, he felt something, like a tap on the shoulder, but contained in his mind. He looked down at the amulet.

He felt the amulet look back.

_Right. Sorry._

He shut his eyes and took a deep breath, steadying and full, and gave himself over to the necklace, allowing it to guide him fully.

Sam opened his eyes, and answered the question. “I am… powerful.”

The lights surged.

“Yes, Sam!” Rowena beamed. "And?"

And? Sam sought out Bris's gaze again, and tried to clear his mind.

“And... worthy,” he said. A small smile lifted her lips.

Somewhere behind him, a million miles away, someone grunted,  _“Dean, wait!”_

Rowena didn't waver. “And…?” she asked again, just barely audible now.

The answer leapt to his tongue, and it was Sam's turn to smile at Bris.

He held out his hand to her. She looked between him and Rowena, and though Rowena's eyebrow rose, this time she didn't make any move to stop her. So Bris stepped forward, and when she entered the circle a lavender light joined the white, mingling and blending in harmony.

When her hand reached his, the wind cut and the din ceased, but Sam had no fear that the spell had failed. He could still feel it humming through him, was still bathed in the light of the spell circle, and though he couldn't see it himself, of course, the white light had risen in his eyes as well, strong and steady as he looked deep into Bris’s own and gave his final answer:

“Whole.”

There was no explosion. No sudden burst of energy. Not even an errant gust of wind. The glow of the spell circle simply started to fade and the rush in Sam's being slowed.

But it was still there. A steady buzz under his skin. And now Sam could recognize it for what it was: This was his gift. This was his power. This was his responsibility.

And _she_ had gotten him here. Rowena did the spell, but Bris had brought him here. As much as she would deny it, she had opened his eyes, had guided him to this final step, while all along showing him nothing but… nothing but…

Sam's smile grew. Of course.

He pulled Bris close and kissed her; warm, reverent, and giving.

He leaned back to meet her eyes, and said with half a smile, “Ask me again, Bris. Ask me why.”

Those eyes were so beautiful, so dark and sparkling and wide, and Sam silently vowed to give her that look as often as he could. She asked him, softly, *Why, Sam?*

Sam looked down at his chest, down at the amulet sitting there. He reached up his free hand, and slipped it easily over his head, letting it hang from his fist as he looked to her again with a truly beatific smile.

“Because I love you,” he said, and he knew it was true. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {[Born Ready](https://open.spotify.com/track/3IVPEWo3ocvmYHTkieGCIz?si=t4IY_Yh3SRe36bRd-e3SaA) \- Lyrics}
> 
> I don't believe in no devil,  
> 'Cause I done raised this hell,  
> I've been the last one standin',  
> When all the giants fell,
> 
> I won't shiver,  
> I won't shake,  
> I'm made of stone,  
> I don't break,
> 
> Start me up,  
> Open my eyes,  
> Turn me loose and you'll see why,  
> I was born, born ready,  
> I was born, born ready,  
> Starin' at the pressure now,  
> I won't quit, not backin' down,  
> I was born, born ready,  
> I was born, born ready,
> 
> I am the unknown fighter,  
> A dark horse comin' for you,  
> I'm gonna push up higher,  
> I'm gonna do what I do,
> 
> I won't shiver,  
> I won't shake,  
> I'm made of stone,  
> I don't break,
> 
> Start me up,  
> Open my eyes,  
> Turn me loose and you'll see why,  
> I was born, born ready,  
> I was born, born ready,  
> Starin' at the pressure now,  
> I won't quit, not backin' down,  
> I was born, born ready,  
> I was born, born ready,
> 
> Keep pushin' up higher,  
> Keep pushin' up,  
> Keep pushin' up higher, higher,  
> Keep pushin' up,
> 
> Keep pushin' up higher, higher,  
> Keep pushin' up,
> 
> Start me up,  
> Open my eyes,  
> Turn me loose and you'll see why,  
> I was born, born ready,  
> I was born, born ready,  
> Starin' at the pressure now,  
> I won't quit, not backin' down,  
> I was born, born ready,  
> I was born, born ready,
> 
> Keep pushin' up higher,  
> Keep pushin' up,  
> Keep pushin' up higher, higher,  
> Keep pushin' up,
> 
> Start me up,  
> Open my eyes  
> Turn me loose and you'll see why,  
> I was born, born ready,  
> I was born, born ready,


	6. Chapter 6

On the simplest level, Dean knew what he was seeing. He just didn't believe it.

Rowena had Sam in a spell circle. That witch was doing something to his little brother and he was just _taking_ it— and Bris was just _watching—_  He had almost stopped at the end of the hall from the shock of it, but now he reached for the gun he'd tucked in his waistband and he'd take Rowena down with his _bare hands_ if he had to—

 _“Dean, wait.”_ A strong hand gripped his arm and held him back. Dean knew who it was from the hold alone, but he still whipped back to Cas.

“Let me go,” he growled.

 _“Dean,_ this isn’t the problem you think it is,” Cas stressed, locking his eyes. “This is the help you sought.”

Dean flipped back and saw Sam reach out for Bris. She went to him, the wind died down and the light shifted, and they embraced each other.

“No it isn't, he’s still got the necklace on!" he insisted. "What the hell is all this and he’s still got the necklace on?” 

Cas's hand was was fast on his arm. “Have patience, Dean.”

Sam slipped the necklace off, and Dean clearly heard him tell Bris that he loved her.

And, well, even livid as he was, he couldn’t stop himself from patting himself on the back. He had called that like a month ago.

Bris’s face broke open in joy and she nearly tackled him to the ground with the force of her kiss. Rowena just smiled at them as they tumbled off, and began cleaning up her spell.  

Cas released his arm and Dean surged at Rowena. As if expecting this, Cas moved with him, staying only a step behind.

“Couldn’t give a guy a little  _warning_ that you’re gonna do your fucking witchcraft in his goddamned living room?” Dean shot at her.

Rowena turned and looked down her nose at him with what had to be her haughtiest look. “This didn’t concern you, boy,” she said, then turned to Cas, and her mood flipped like a switch. “Well,  _hello_ there, my handsome Tweetie-Pie! How have _you_ been?”

Dean didn’t notice how Cas fidgeted as he barreled on. “You’re doin’ your witchy crap on my brother, I think it concerns me!”

 _“Mh._ Well you’re gonna want to get used to that ‘witchy crap’ right quick.”

“The hell does that mean?”

“Dean!” Sam finally came up for air, though with the way Bris had her hands fisted in his shirt, it was clear he’d be right back under before long. He held up the amulet, now swinging from his triumphant fist, “It’s off! It worked! It's finally off!”

Dean recoiled at the light illuminating the iris of his brother's eyes. “You alright, there, Sammy?”

“I’m not telling you!” Sam beamed, throwing his arms wide. “I’m not telling you or anyone jack-shit!” He wrapped his arms around Bris’s waist and spun her with a great whoop, both of them laughing with glee.

Dean's gut churned. He turned back to Rowena just as she waved her hand to remove the spell circle. “What the  _hell_ did you do?”

“Returned a favor. Though still,” she turned her wrist twice and the spell bowl and its contents vanished, “not really any of your business, is it?”

Dean’s hand twitched for his gun again. Cas leaned against him with a feather-light touch.

“Hey, ah— guys—” Sam said as he was stumbling, or possibly being dragged, toward the hallway. Dean was relieved to see the light finally fading from his eyes. “We’re, ah, gonna head off to bed. Tired from all the spellwork you know and—  _Whoa!”_

With one last tug, he and Bris disappeared toward their room.

Dean rounded on Rowena. “You better start talking.”

 _“Mm,”_ she hummed at him through an empty smile. “I believe the phrase I want is: 'Get bent, dear'.”

And she vanished.

Dean growled at where she had last been. He spun and rushed at the hallway to—

Cas stepped in front of him, “Sam will explain in the morning, Dean, you know he will.”

Dean’s lip twitched. “He’s gonna explain now if he knows what’s good for him.”

“He’s fine, Dean.”

Dean clenched his fists. “Why the  _fuck_ aren’t you freaking out?”

“Because I have a greater perspective, and you are blinded by fear.”

Dean recoiled, looking Cas up and down. It had been years since Cas had spoken to him like that.

And the butterflies in his stomach could shut _right_ the hell up.

“Shit, dude,” Dean gathered himself. “I… Fine.”

As Dean began to calm down, Cas noticeably relaxed. “You should go back to bed,” he said.

“Ain't’ no way I'm gonna be able to sleep after that.”

“I know… but, you should try.”

“Hi, I’m Dean Winchester, I don’t really do what I should,” he bobbed his head sarcastically. “Look, Cas, I’m not in the mood for any mother-hen-ing, so—”

Something twitched on Cas’s face, and Dean mentally kicked himself.

He sighed. “So... how about you come share a beer with me?”

Cas’s brows arched with continued concern, but he nodded and followed Dean to the kitchen.

 

 

And nobody noticed Ketch watching the entirely of this unfold from the map room.

 

 

———

 

The door to their bedroom burst open and Sam tumbled back toward the bed. Bris kicked the door shut behind her, her shirt already halfway off as she did.

“I can’t believe that wor—” Sam started, cut off as she practically tore his shirt from his shoulders. “It fucking worked! Ask me things, ask me anything—”

“No.”

She shoved him back onto the bed, and in his shock it was downright easy for her. She climbed into his lap and placed his hands on her hips, dragging them up her curves.

“Shit, babe—”

“I ain’t your babe,” she growled.

“I… Fine.”

She kissed him, hard and claiming, “I’m just yours. And you’re mine.”

*Shit…* Sam breathed.

She nipped his ear, and whispered low, *Lie back for me, Sam.*

The fire in his stomach flared, and it surprised him. He obliged her and shifted back on the mattress, and she started at his belt.

“Wait—!” he burst, his heart suddenly gripped with ice.

Bris stopped immediately. But she looked up at him lazily, her eyes half-lidded, eyebrows raised. She pointedly looked down to his chest and back, and she waited.

“Well, um…” he tried, but now Sam wasn’t sure why he had wanted her to stop. There  _had_ been a reason, there definitely was, but it was hazy now, like a drunken memory, and he’d never be able to put it into words. “I, um… nevermind… go ahead.”

Her head tipped back ever so slightly, her eyes becoming hooded and a smile coming to tease him on her lips. Then her hands set to work, and she quickly freed his half-hard erection, and then, with absolutely no warning whatsoever, she ducked her head down and took him fully into her mouth.

_“Holy—!”_

Dear  _god— Fuck—_ He hadn’t had this in forever, not since… he couldn’t even remember when. Holy  _fuck..._ Why hadn’t he been doing this all this time—?

There weren't many coherent thoughts after that, Bris took him to town, working him up until he was gripping at the sheets and groaning and breathing her name. She sat back up, absently stroking him as she looked down at him, and Sam watched as she considered him carefully, her lips parting just enough to drive him from sanity, and he found himself breathless with anticipation.

“Lord above," she said, her eyes taking in every inch of him she could reach. "You’re a gorgeous thing, Sam, you know that?”

“I… um... You, too...”

She chuckled and leaned back further, allowing him to sit up. Propping himself up with one hand, he threaded the other through her hair to the back of her neck and brought her close for another kiss.

Bris pulled back, just a fraction, just far enough to speak, and her breath was soothingly hot on his lips.

*I want to take you, Sam. Could I do that?* 

His breath was punched out of him. She wanted— She wanted to— But that would mean—

But...

Why not?

Like an old jacket, the last remnants of that hesitation fell away and a rolling tide of desire swelled in him. He tightened his grip on her, and he kissed her again.

But he had one more question to ask.

“Where is this coming from?”

She threw a leg over his lap and shoved him down, pinning his shoulders to the mattress. The action took his heart and threw it over a cliff where it hovered, desperately scrambling for purchase.

“Been here all along, love," she soothed from above him. "Just been waitin’ for you to be ready.”

Sam breathed shakily into a smile. He was, without a doubt, the luckiest man there ever was. “Then… Fuck... You do what you want.”

 _“Ohh,”_ she sighed, her gaze falling impossibly heavier on him, “I sure fuckin’ hope you means that.”

He absolutely did.

And it was probably the best night of his life.

 

 

~*~*~

 

 

Dean didn’t go back to bed that night. But instead of drinking until he didn’t care anymore, like he  _wanted_ to, Cas had to go and start giving him that look. The little one. So small that you only noticed it if it had been thrown at you a hundred thousand goddamned times. The little look that said,  _I wish you wouldn’t._

So he cut Plan A short and headed for Plan C. ‘C’ for the  _Cave of Dean-itude!_...Damn it, no, that wasn’t right either.

Whatever. He and Cas spent the night watching movies. It was nice. He guessed.

But the morning came as it always did, so eventually Dean ended their marathon and went to the kitchen to make breakfast. For himself. Cas watched from his place at the counter off to the side; silently, cautiously observing.

As Dean finished his food, Sam and Bris meandered in, giggling and kissing, their hands all over each other.

Dean just waited, drumming a finger on the cold island top.

Sam paused as he reached his seat, finally seeming to notice his brother, and said, “‘Morning.”

Dean didn’t greet him back.

“So?” he said instead.

Sam ticked back at his curt tone. “Um. ‘So,’ what?”

“You gonna tell me what the fuck happened last night?”

Bris snorted.

Sam chuckled. “Seems kinda personal, Dean—”

“With  _Rowena._ Sam.” 

Sam’s eyes widened. “She… She helped me get the necklace off.”

“Hell of a light show for one dinky little necklace.”

A muscle in Sam’s neck twitched. “Yeah. Well. There was… a bit more.”

“Yeah. Got that from the whole Iron Giant schtick.” Dean waved two fingers between his eyes.

“Iron Giant…?”

“Your  _eyes_ were lit up like a goddamned  _Avataar,_ Sam!”

Sam pulled back, frowning at him. “Hey, what’s with the third degree, Dean?”

“Well, let's see, how about that you _let Rowena fuck with you_ with her  _fucking_ magic! That— oh yeah—  _you_ let her tap into in the first place!”

Cas left his place against the counter, carefully, but deliberately, moving toward the island.

“Yeah, because I  _trust_ her, Dean! And you should fucking trust  _me_ to do that!”

“Well I  _would_ if you didn’t keep doin’ stupid-ass _bullshit_ like—”

 _“Hey!”_ Bris cut over him. “Where the fuck do you get off talkin’ to your own brother like that?”

“Same place you get off just standing there while it happened!”

“Oh listen here, you  _bollix—”_

_“Stop!”_

The three of them jumped a foot in the air at Cas’s command.

“Cas—” Dean tried.

 _“Stop,”_ Cas said, pinning him down with nothing but a stare, and something in Dean finally remembered he had commanded the armies of the Lord.

Cas turned to face Sam. “Sam, we would appreciate it if you told us what happened last night. And  _Dean,”_ he narrowed his eyes, sharp as a knife, “you will  _listen.”_

Any protest withered in Dean’s throat.

“I… Well…” Sam cleared his throat. “Well for one thing… I-I think the demon blood is gone.”

“What  _demon blood?”_

“Dean—”

“No, Cas.” He rounded on Sam, “You’ve been drinking  _demon blood_ again?”

“What? No, of course not! How could you even think that? The blood from  _Yellow Eyes!"_

“You…" Dean leaned back. “That was still there?”

“Wha—! Of course it was, Dean! It didn’t just  _vanish!_ I’ve been taking pain pills to keep the visions away for  _years!"_

Dean's mouth was opening and closing as he stared at Sam. “I… I didn’t know…”

“Yeah. What else is new.”

Dean’s lips parted, but nothing left the open door.

“So. Yeah,” Sam continued thickly, “the demon blood is gone. Was a fucking trip, by the way, thanks for asking. And Rowena  _used_ the necklace to help me find what was beneath it. And you know what? I’m actually pretty fucking excited about it, alright? And I’m thinking you’re just going to have to deal with that, okay? Can you do that, Dean?”

Dean fumbled some sort of answer.

Sam drooped with a short sigh. Then he caught the way Bris was looking at him, and it seemed to spur him on.

“So... the necklace is taken care of, done with. Case closed. Now I’ve got some passports to drop off and an archangel to rescue, so how about we get our shit together and do something about that.” Sam turned to Cas, “How are you feeling, Cas? Ready to go kick some demon ass?”

Cas glanced uneasily between Sam and Dean’s quickly wilting figure. “I expected this would be a stealth mission.”

“Then we’ll stealthily kick their asses,” Sam smiled. He turned back to Dean, “You call Crowley and finally get him to spill his intel. I’m going to go for a good, long run and get some breakfast.” He stood from his stool, and offered a hand to Bris, “Wanna come?”

She took his hand, but asked skeptically, “When you say ‘go for a run’ do you mean… jogging?”

“Um— Yes?”

“Lord above,” she rolled her eyes high with a smile as they left the kitchen together, “what kinda shit have I gotten myself into?”

And then they were gone. And all Dean could do was stare after them.

Cas shifted where he stood, and suddenly Dean was hyper-aware of him. His pitying look. His hands in his pockets. His intake of breath before he was about to say something—

“I’m—” Dean headed him off. Whatever he was going to say, it was gonna be something all  _soft_ and  _helpful_ and… damn it, whatever it was Cas was going to be  _right._ “I’ll go call Crowley.”

And Dean just didn’t need that right now.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

When Dean finally called Crowley, he picked up on the first ring.

_“So… how did it go?”_

Dean shut his eyes and suppressed a growl. “Would it kill you to  _tell_ me when you’re gonna do this shit?”

 _“No, but it would_  _make things dreadfully dull.”_

Dean clenched his jaw. Three sentences in and he already wanted to throttle Crowley.

_“Mother won’t tell me a thing about it, though. How is our dear Samantha after going through an Ordeal with her?”_

“He’s fantastic. Look, we need to get this Hell train moving so what’s the plan to get us in?”

_“Oh, haven’t I told you? You’re going to Massachusetts.”_

Dean, utterly unable to deal with any more bullshit, just dropped his head. “And  _why_ are we going to Massachusetts?”

_“Because that’s where your archangel is.”_

Dean refused to say anything until Crowley explained himself.

_“You’re such a child. There’s a place in Massachusetts, a building placed where the lines between Earth and Hell are thin. It’s not a true Hellgate, but it’s far easier to travel between Realms there.”_

“And that’s where Asmodeus is keeping Gabriel?”

_“Somewhere thereabouts, yes.”_

“I don’t like ‘somewhere thereabouts’.”

_“Yes, well, after your little stunt with my double-agent, and some slightly related politicking going on in Hell, I’ve been having a smidge more difficulty getting my usual flow of information.”_

Dean dropped his head into his hand. *Great. Something else I fucked up.*

 _“What’s that?”_  

“Nothing. Just tell me where we’re going and how guarded it is.”

_“Wouldn’t you rather I just take you there?”_

“No.”

Dean heard Crowley sigh into the line. Then his phone buzzed with a message.

_“It’s there. Tell me when you get there and I’ll meet you.”_

“What, like you’re gonna help?”

_“Of course I’m going to help. Some two-bit pretender is sitting on my throne.”_

“Thought you didn’t care about that.”

_“Yes, well, things change, Dean.”_

Dean sighed, landing a hand on his hip. “Never gonna get you straight, am I?”

_“Never was to start with. I’ll expect a call in a few days, if you’re going to insist on traveling by belching tramp-mobile.”_

“Hey! Don’t you talk about—”

Crowley hung up.

“—her like that.”

Dean's lip curled over a grated sigh. He pulled up the pin Crowley had sent, and went to tell Cas.

 

———

 

Dean entered the library to find Cas sitting in the far corner, eyeing Ketch darkly as the man ate some toast, a morning paper in front of him and a mug of tea in his hand.

Dean’s mug.

Again.

Upon seeing Ketch, sitting there smug as a bastard in a rug, something snapped in Dean, and he detoured.

“Hey! Thanks for letting us know Gabriel was in ‘Hell’, you dick.”

Ketch belatedly looked up, raising an eyebrow at Dean when he realized he was speaking to him. “Beg your pardon?”

“He’s in  _Massachusetts,_ you useless sack of _shit.”_

Ketch drew his chin back and looked Dean up and down. “Well that’s how you get  _in,_ yes.”

“Oh— so you already  _knew that_ and you didn’t  _tell us?”_

Ketch tipped his head, taking a sip from the mug. “Didn’t I?” he said.

“No! You fucking did not!”

 _“Mm.”_ Ketch set the mug down and turned back to the paper, “Yes, well, you’ve been busy anyway—”

“We’ve been  _sitting_ for a  _week.”_

“In which I’ve been distinctly trying to avoid confrontations such as this, and yet, here we are.”

Dean was looming over Ketch by now, his fists clenched.

“I’m gettin’ real fuckin’ tired of your shit.”

Ketch nonchalantly faced Dean again. “And why is that? What exactly have I done to you?”

Dean reeled and opened his mouth—

 _“Lately,”_ Ketch amended. “What have I done to you  _lately?”_

Dean sputtered for an answer.

“I’ve brought you information on your archangel, I’ve helped your brother with his little project to help the Paddies, I haven’t done a damned thing to your home while you’ve been away, so what on Earth is your issue with me right now?”

Dean’s lip curled. “You’re not dead.”

Ketch nodded. “Ah, yes, well,” he picked up the mug for another sip, “afraid I can’t help you with that. Why don’t you just go back to pretending I’m not around,  _hm?”_

A muscle in Dean’s neck jumped.

“Dean.” A hand appeared on his shoulder and he turned to see Cas at his side.

Ketch huffed into his drink. “Yes, you should listen to your little angel—”

Dean's hand shot out, catching Ketch by the throat, and it was a wonder the mug didn’t shatter when it fell to the table.

*I already told you once, you steaming pile of dicks,* Dean growled, *he’s not  _our_ angel.*

“Of course not,” Ketch strained around Dean’s hand, “he’s  _your_ angel.”

“I _just_ said—”

“Dean.”

Cas’s hand tightened on his shoulder, and all around his upper body he could feel... some sort of calm spreading through him.

Dean clenched his teeth against it. “Stop it, Cas.”

Cas paused, then the feeling stopped, and he removed his hand from Dean. Dean took his hand from Ketch. Ketch rubbed at his throat.

Dean couldn’t stand to look at his stupid, smarmy fucking face anymore, so he spun on his heel and took off for the kitchen. 

“You do know I’m not just going to go away, don’t you?” Ketch tossed at him.

Dean stopped. It was all he could do not to spin around and knock his fucking lights out.

“Yeah. We’ll see.”

He left for the kitchen.

 

———

 

He expected to sit in there by himself for a while, to have a little something to take the edge off until Sam got back from his stupid run. But really, Dean should have known better by now, because of course Cas followed him, hovering on the other side of the island.

Before he could say anything, Dean took hold of the conversation.

“Why the fuck did you stop me?”

Cas tensed at the bite in his voice. “I don’t think Sam wants Ketch dead yet.”

Dean gave a dry laugh, “‘Course he wouldn’t. ‘Cause he’s a cute hoor, right?”

Cas tilted his head at Dean.

“What, didn’t I use it right?”

“No, you did. It’s just… unexpected when you say it.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, guess that’s what I get for trying.” He took another swig from his beer and said nothing more.

Cas filled the silence in his wake, “Dean you’re terribly upset.”

“Yeah, well...” He didn’t continue.

“This can’t only be about Ketch. He was right, he hasn’t done anything to us lately.”

“Never thought I’d hear you defending Ketch.”

“I’m not. I’m trying to figure out what’s wrong.”

Dean huffed over his bottle, “Fuck, Cas, what’s not wrong with me?”

Cas’s eyes flew wide in what Dean would best describe as terror. “Dean, I didn’t mean—”

“No, I know you didn’t, Cas, don’t worry about it.”

He took a long drag off his beer and for the hundred-and-a-billionth fucking time he wished he knew how to just fucking talk to Cas without giving him a fucking heart attack.

Cas watched him helplessly over the island. He said quietly, “Please tell me what’s wrong, Dean.”

Dean looked up at Cas. Up into those bright goddamned eyes that always seemed to be looking way too far into him.

“Everything, Cas, everything’s wrong. All the time.” Dean drained his beer and tossed it in the trash. He went to leave, intending to wait in his room—  _alone—_ for Sam to come back. “But that’s not your problem, alright? You worry about you.”

“Dean—”

“It’s not your problem, Cas," and Dean left the kitchen.

 

He was too far away to hear when Cas said, “Of course it is, Dean.”


	7. Chapter 7

Sam and Bris came back from what turned out to be an easy run for Sam—  _I’m a swimmer, Sam, not a damned runner! —_ with their bellies full of a hot breakfast from the nearest diner and their minds simmering with anticipation to learn what Dean had gotten from Crowley. Sam expected Dean might still be a little... cranky from this morning, but he definitely wasn’t expecting the post-it note of a greeting he got as they passed Dean’s room.

“Hey. Turns out we're going to Massachusetts. We’re leaving in an hour.”

Sam shared a glance with Bris, and doubled back to poke his head through Dean’s cracked door. “Massachusetts?" he asked, "I got that from Ketch days ago.”

Even from all the way at the door, Sam could see Dean tense where he sat on his bed. “‘Course you did,” Dean said without looking up from his laptop. His duffel was already packed and sitting at his feet. “I swear to god, Sam, if he’s not gone when we get back I’m gonna kill him myself.”

“That was always the plan, we only need him a little longer.” He looked over his brother. “Did he only just tell you?”

“No. Crowley did,” Dean snapped.

“And that's all Crowley told you? That we can get in through Massachusetts?”

“What else was he supposed to say?”

“I dunno, I thought he had a faster way in.”

“Yeah. Guess I should have known he'd be no help,” Dean grumbled. “Whatever. Go get ready. One hour.”

“Yeah. Sure, Dean. One hour,” Sam said, and left to continue on with Bris to their room, knowing better than to argue with Dean in this state. He felt a bit of guilt for having pushed him there, though that phone call with Crowley couldn't have helped.

He and Bris grabbed a change of clothes and headed around the corner to the shower room. It might have been a mild January, but running still worked up a sweat and frankly, a long, hot shower was definitely in order after all the events of the last twelve hours or so.

Sam set out his supplies at one of the sinks, intending to get a shave in beforehand, and Bris went to start the water in one of the stalls to let it warm. He scratched at his scruff and started spreading his shaving cream as Bris hummed a tune behind him, the slow, simple one they had danced to last night. It tugged a smile from his lips as he rinsed his hands, and reached over for his razor to—

**twitch**

Sam stared at the razor. “...What?”

“What?” Bris called back as she slipped off her socks.

“My razor…” Sam looked up into the mirror, checking his eyes, excitement bubbling despite himself— but there was nothing there. “Hey, do you think the bunker could be haunted?”

“Hows the fuck should I know? Haven’t even read up on ghosts yet," Bris answered. "Didn’t you put up them protections that girl told you about?”

“Yeah, I did...” Sam checked the mirrors for ice, taking note of the room’s temperature, but all was normal.

Dean had said his eyes had lit up last night, and coupled with the incredible feeling the spell had given him, he'd really been expecting... something. But he hadn't felt anything since last night, and Sam was starting to think that there simply wouldn't be any effects beyond the treatment and a heavy dose of self-awareness— not that that wasn't great on its own, but...

Sam turned to Bris. “But this razor totally moved.”

“Oh yeah?” she said, and moved from the shower to join him at the sink, but the water had gotten past the curtain and spread across the floor, and when she took that first step, her foot slipped on the slick tile. She cried out, overbalanced, started to pitch forward— and Sam was too far away, he’d never catch her, but he reflexively threw up a hand—

And she stopped.

She hung there in the air, her eyes squeezed shut, arms thrust out to catch herself, and when she didn’t crash to the ground, she opened her eyes, blinking between the floor, herself, and Sam.

“Well, fuck,” she grinned at him, “guess the bunker ain't haunted, then.”

A wide smile spread across Sam’s face. He slowly lifted his hand, carefully setting Bris back on her feet, then spun back to the mirror, just catching the white light in his irises just as it faded out.

 

“...Oh  _fuck_ yeah.”

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

Everyone was ready to leave right when Dean wanted to, convening in the garage one hour later.

But as Dean headed over the car, Sam tapped his shoulder, asking him to stop for a moment, as there was something on his mind.

“Hey,” Sam started, looking out at Bris and Cas as they loaded some ammo into the trunk, “this last week, has Cas been acting…?”

“Really weird lately?”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “I was just going to say  _happy_ but unfortunately weird works too.”

“Oh," Dean glanced over at Cas. "Well, see, that… That's, um...” He rubbed the back of his neck. “We had a talk.”

Sam blinked, suddenly fighting a grin. “A talk?”

“Yeah, a talk,” Dean shot his brother a look. “He, um— see— he thought…” He watched Cas take a heavy box of supplies from Bris and load it easily. “He thought we were just 'keeping him around'.”

“What?” Sam looked out to Cas, the traces of that smile gone.

"Yeah. He thought we were just 'letting him stay here' because he’s _useful.”_

“What? _No.”_ He snapped back to Dean. “How long?”

Dean shrugged. “Basically forever, I guess.”

“But... he’s...” 

"Yeah," Dean sighed. “And so when he... when you..." He shook his head with a grimace. "Look, when you went down, and he had to— you know—" he made a motion at Sam's stomach, "—it really fucked him up. It was the only option we had but I mean— It was pretty bad on our end, and he thought he fucked up really bad, so we talked and now he's doing better, I guess. But I mean, he hated having to do that to you. He thought... He thought he'd like..." Dean tossed his hand, seeming to falter for words.

But Sam picked up the last pieces. Without another word, he dropped his duffel to the ground and went over to Cas.

“Cas.”

“Yes, Sa—?”

But Sam was already pulling Cas in, enveloping him in a bone-crushing hug. Bris caught on right away, and backed off to go stand with Dean.

“Is something wrong, Sam?” Cas asked.

“Is something wrong—” Sam repeated bitterly over his shoulder. “Yeah, man. I’m so sorry.” They pulled apart, but Sam kept his hands on Cas’s shoulders.

“Sorry for what?” Cas asked.

“Cas…” Sam didn't even know where to start. “I, um, I was talking to Dean and— Look, I didn't realize what you had to do to save me last week, but—"

Cas immediately began to shrink into himself.

"No-no, Cas! Hey, wait." He made sure to meet Cas's gaze. "I'm gladthat you saved me. Thank you, Cas."

Cas just looked up at him with awful regret in his eyes, "But, Sam, what I had to do..."

"Yeah— I, uh... I bet it looked just like what he did, huh?"

Cas looked away and nodded. "I tried everything else I could, but we were losing you so quickly— It was the only thing we could do and I couldn't ask your permission—"

"Hey, Cas, man, this is totally different," Sam said, gripping his shoulders tighter. "Thank you so much for trying to find another way, but I swear, this is completely different. This is completely different from... other times. I'm  _glad_ that you saved me. I'm  _glad_ that I'm alive. Heck, I'm even kind of glad you had to do it the way you did."

Cas looked up at him again, that confused squint scrunching his face now.

"I mean, for one thing I was unconscious for the painful part this time, but what I mean is—" He glanced over at Bris and Dean, and lowered his voice a bit. "I'm glad because I'm pretty sure Rowena used  _your_ grace to treat the demon blood."

Cas's lips parted and his eyes went wide. "She did?" 

"Yeah," Sam smiled. "You were pretty badass, too, I could feel it the whole time. I could feel... all of it." He nodded a bit, blinking his eyes. "I mean it, Cas, thank you."

When Cas glanced away this time, it wasn't from shame. "I'm glad I could help you, Sam—"

Sam winced. "No, wait. Dean, um, Dean mentioned that, too." He took a breath, and said, "Cas, you’re our brother. You’re my best friend. I'd die for you, man, I would. You are a part of this family and I love you—" Cas snapped up to him, and Sam chuffed. "I do. And I’m so sorry that we didn’t make all that clear before, or that we pushed you away, or whatever the hell happened here.”

A shaky smile spread on Cas’s face, and everything Sam had felt before was right there, plain as day. Cas seemed to search for what to say, but in the end he just nodded and offered a heartfelt, “Thank you, Sam.”

Sam returned the smile and pulled him in by his shoulders, embracing him again, and this time Cas hugged him back just as tightly.

When they separated, Sam looked down at the remaining pile of supplies and asked, “Hey, you want some help here?”

Cas's smile only grew. “Yes, I would love that.”

From their place on the sidelines, Bris and Dean watched the two of them. As Sam and Cas began loading the trunk again, Bris leaned over and said, “Really seems like you lot don't do this enough.”

Dean tilted his head at her. “Do what?”

She scoffed. “Fuckin’ _talk_ to each other.”

Dean snorted as he stepped forward, picking Sam's bag up from the ground and tossing it into the trunk.

Finally packed and ready to go, they all piled into the car. Sam slid into the back seat with Bris, and Cas took shotgun without question. Sam nudged Bris, giving her a quick wink as he tossed his head up at the front seat.

She just rolled her eyes, a knowing grin tugging at her lips.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

They got about three hours out when the radio began to crackle.

“Pick out a tape, Cas,” Dean clipped, almost automatically.

Cas began to fidget in his seat. “Are you sure you… definitely want a tape?”

Dean’s gaze skipped to Cas from the road. “Uh, yeah? Unless you prefer the static?”

“I just… thought you might want to try out…”

Dean’s face creased with frustration. “Try out  _what,_ Cas?”

“The… the, um—”

 _“Fuck!”_ Dean smacked the steering wheel. Everyone in the car jumped. “God  _damn_ it, I forgot it! I forgot the thing, the goddamned cassette thing for the stereo!”

He was already breaking to turn the car around when Cas placed his hand on Dean’s arm.

“It’s okay, Dean.”

Dean’s heart plummeted at the warmth and butterflies that wanted to spread from the small touch. He didn’t deserve it. At this moment he hated it.

“Of course it’s not okay, I told you I’d bring it. You went through all that shit to find it and I put you through all that shit when you gave it to me—”

“Dean,” Cas’s hand squeezed his arm. “Next time. It’s okay.”

Dean kept his eyes on the road. *It’s not,* he mumbled, but he drove on.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

Somewhere across Iowa they stopped for gas. Sam and Bris had packed up some of the leftovers from Dean’s birthday for lunch, but _You don’t just stop at a convenience store and not get something, _Dean had grumbled at the cold burger patty Sam was trying to hand him, so before they settled in for a quick lunch at the trunk, they ran inside. Dean methodically assembled his usual selection of road snacks, and Sam took an iced tea from the cooler, but Bris took a little longer to pick something out.

“Don’t really know these American brands,” she explained when Sam asked, “don’t right know what’s any good.”

“Well you like apples, right? Try that,” Sam said, pointing at a squat glass bottle.

They checked out without hassle and headed back to the car where Cas was waiting for them.

When Bris got around to opening up her drink, she hummed in pleasant surprise. “There’s somethin’ on the cap, there,” she said, and held it close to read it.  _“Bees are born fully grown.”_ She frowned. “Well that don’t make a lick o’ sense.”

But across from her, Cas had brightened considerably. “It isn’t phrased well, but I would assume they mean that when an egg is laid, it’s already a creature capable of eating and small movements. Or perhaps they’re just referring to the speed at which the larvae develop.”

Bris raised her eyebrows at Cas, “Well alrighty then, you know a lot about bees, there?”

Dean groaned, though there was a small grin behind it, “Don’t get him started.”

Cas's smile dropped.

But before Dean could stammer his way out of that, Bris leaned forward and handed the cap to Cas, “Oh, no, I wanna hear this. Come on, Snapples, lay it on me.”

Cas took the cap from her, his eyes sparkling with excitement, and he launched into a full lecture on the life cycle of a typical worker bee. Sam and Bris sat in rapt attention as they finished their lunch. Dean tried not to meet anyone’s eye.

Before they left, Bris went back inside and picked up three more bottles.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

Back on the road, Sam was feeling like a kid, practically bouncing in his seat with excitement. But something told him Dean wasn’t exactly going to be as... enthusiastic as he was, and Sam didn’t want to rile him any further, so after staving it out for over half the ride, he finally gave in and satisfied his urge by hovering his phone an inch or two over his thigh, keeping his eyes downcast so Dean wouldn't pick them up in the rearview mirror.

He caught Bris smirking at him, and gave the phone an experimental twirl.

The radio was loud enough to mask his voice, so he leaned over and said quietly to her, “I can’t wait to show Jack.”

“Jack?”

Sam’s heart dropped, the phone landing on his leg. “Have I not told you about Jack?”

“No, love, who’s that?”

“He’s our… He’s…” There was absolutely not a word for Jack, but Sam did his best. “He’s family. This big mission we’ve been talking about, that other dimension we’re trying to reach, Jack is stuck there. It’s part of why we need to rescue Gabriel. I mean, of course we just need to rescue Gabriel, but we also need his grace for the spell to get us through to the other side.”

Bris nodded along, “That does put some of the pieces together, yes.”

“Our Mom is there, too. They’ve been stuck there for… god must be eight or nine months now. Well Mom has. To be honest we’re not sure if Jack is in the same place as her. There was this thing with a Dreamwalker and—” He glanced over at Bris. “Sorry, I’m about to get four yarns out again.”

She just smiled and bumped into his arm.

“God, I hope they’re alright," Sam continued. "We  _have_ to get over there soon. I mean, shit, we might get there and… and...”

“Hey, now,” Bris put a hand on his arm. “If they’re anythin’ like you lot I bet they’re perfectly fine. Probably runnin’ the damn place by now.”

Sam chuffed. “That would be Mom. Jack might just be excited to see a new place. Maybe make some friends or something. God, that kid needs some friends.”

“Kid?”

“Well he’s only like nine months old.”

Bris’s eyes flew wide.

San inhaled. “This is something that requires a  _lot_ of backstory, how about I tell you at the first motel?”

“Sounds like a date,” Bris smiled again, and snuggled into Sam’s shoulder.

Sam rested his cheek on her head and waved a finger at the phone again, moving it back and forth, twirling it in slow, lazy circles.

 

They couldn’t see Cas’s warm little smile in the front seat.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

Sam had planned that they would deliver the paperwork to the selkies on the way out to Massachusetts, so their first stop was in Chicago again, on the Des Plaines River in a preserve that the sign at the road called the “Dam No. 4 Woods - East.”

“I’m startin’ to think Chicagoans are just allergic to good names,” Dean grumbled as they pulled into the parking lot.

“No argument here. I mean, they call their most famous sculptures ‘The Bean’ and ‘The Picasso’,” Sam said as he checked his map to make sure they were in the right place. “Oh, hey, there’s a preserve just north of us called ‘Campground Road Woods,’ you wanna go there instead?”

Dean groaned and shut off the engine.

Despite the terrible moniker, the preserve proved to be a good meeting place— relatively unpopular and close to O’Hare airport. So close, in fact, that their conversations were cut short fairly frequently by the high roar of jet engines overhead.

They had seen everyone just over a week ago, but you’d never know it from the explosion of a greeting they received as the selkies began emerging from the water. Many of them rushed Cas again, but Dean was ready this time with a stern look and a hard stance. A few others ran straight to Bris, but everyone turned to Sam when Inas shouted in joy.

“Oh,  _lad,_ I’m so happy for ya!” they beamed at him. “Good _God,_ that heart, it's  _fantastic!_ Ballo! Ballo, come look at this!”

Suddenly everyone was crowding for a look into Sam’s chest. Sam tried to placate them, but a heat was creeping up his neck nonetheless. As the selkies fawned over him, Sam and Bris found themselves smothered in enthusiastic hugs, and Cas found himself blissfully ignored for a time.

Eventually they calmed down— though Sam was still peppered with claps to the back and holds on his arm— and Sam was able to get to the business of actually distributing the paperwork and explaining the plan.

“Now you’re going in small groups, not all at once,” he started. “We don't want to draw any attention to you. The flights leave over the next few weeks and you're going to...”

As Sam went on, Ballo broke away and made his way from the crowd, heading over to where Dean and Cas were standing.

“Boys!” he boomed at them, his arms spread wide. “What’re ye doin all the way over here?”

“Not being mobbed,” Dean answered shortly.

Something in Dean's tone must have tipped Ballo off, because he took a look down at Dean's chest. He glanced at Cas, too, but it was Dean that he looked back to and asked: 

“Got time for a walk, lad?”

———

“...So just follow the signs to the gate on your tickets, and listen carefully to the announcements in case something changes,” Sam was still telling the selkies. “If you have any trouble just call and I’ll explain anything you—”

Inas jumped forward, cutting him off with a hug around the middle that knocked the wind out of him.

“Thank you, Sam,” they sighed into his jacket.

Sam smiled down at the surprisingly strong selkie and did his best to hug them back with his hands still full of papers, “Hey, um, no problem…”

Inas stepped back and smoothed down their shirt, “Sorry, lad, I just— It just hit there that we're goin’ back. We're really goin’ home.”

The other selkies nodded and smiled with murmurs of mutual appreciation.

And Sam couldn’t help but smile back. He cleared his throat and started again.

“So when you actually get on the plane, you’re going to want to avoid drinking—”

He was cut off by a collective groan.

“I know, I know! But we really want to attract as little attention as possible…”

———

Cas had insisted he would be fine on his own, and Ballo was apparently not taking no for an answer, so Dean found himself walking up the path through the preserve with the tall, brawny selkie.

Ballo was quiet until they were a good distance from everyone else, then he rubbed at the back of his neck, uncharacteristically sheepish. “This is usually Inas’s thing,” he explained, “but they're a mite busy, there.”

Dean just waited for Ballo to continue. He had insisted on doing this, he could do all the damned work.

“Look, lad, I can never do enough to repay ye for what you'n’yours have done for us, but what I can do is offer some advice.”

Dean rolled his eyes. Great. A lecture.

“I know things seems hard right now, but they won’t be forever. So keep yer chin up,” he flashed Dean a grin. “What ye need is right in front of you.”

*Yeah, that's the problem,* Dean mumbled.

Ballo frowned at him. “Perhaps I should go back a bit.”

“What, you wanna head back already?” 

“Stow it, boy, an’ listen.”

Dean shut his mouth and they walked on.

“Interpretin’ hearts is tricky business, takes years of practice and effort, an’  _you_ are one o’ the trickiest I ever seen.”

 _Great,_ Dean thought,  _even my heart is fucked up._

“’Course overlaid a’top it all is that there emptiness callin’ out like a widowed albatross—”

“I’ve got a lot more on my fucking plate than just—”

“I fuckin’  _know,_ boy, I can  _see!”_

Dean bristled at his tone but shut his mouth.

“Lad, I can  _see_ your wounds. Each one if I looked hard enough. An’ they're all mixed up in the light right now, mixed together like a gnarly Christmas puddin’. An’ it's pullin’ ye down.”

“Pulling me down?”

“Aye. You gotta be careful, mate.” Ballo turned to him, concern in his eyes. “There some serious shit goin’ on down there. You oughtta tell someone. Yer brother, yer friend there, someone.”

Dean scoffed. “Yeah, hard pass.”

Ballo gave a harsh sigh that edged on a growl, “Good Lord, ye stubborn bastard. Even the tallest tree knows what to bend in the wind.”

Dean made a face, but didn’t ask Ballo to explain whatever the hell that was supposed to mean.

“Look, no amount a’ my lock-hard is gonna  _make_ you do nothin’, but I’m tryin'a tell ya, even though things seems bad at the moment, it'll be better if'n you talk to someone. Fuck, even talk to  _me_ here if it’ll help. Jus’ tell  _someone.”_

Dean could see he wasn’t going to let up until he heard what he wanted, so he said, “Fine, I will. Can we go back now?”

Ballo looked at him carefully. His shoulders slumped and he turned around. “Aye, lad. Seems the only useful thing to do fer now.”

———

Dean and Ballo returned to find Sam just wrapping up with the selkies. Ballo rejoined the main group and Dean waited with Cas for Sam.

“...Now I made sure your phones are going to work in Ireland, but you should get new ones as soon as you can—”

“Yeah, an’ look both ways before crossin’ the street, think they got it, Sam,” Bris slipped her arm around his waist, gently but insistently tugging him back.

“Right,” Sam chuffed. “Right, yeah. Okay, everybody got their passport?”

They gave a collective nod and some scattered  _Aye’_ s.

“Well then, hopefully this works and we won’t see you for a long time, right?” Sam smiled at them. They laughed far harder than Sam expected from his little quip and next thing he knew he was being smothered in their hugs again.

Bris expertly extracted him and started leading him back to Cas and Dean, a little smile trying to make itself known on her own face.

“Be careful around the freeway!” Sam called back as they all headed up the path, “And don’t try to take your knives on the plane!”

The selkies waved and shouted their goodbyes as they left, all but Ballo grinning widely.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

Somewhere in Pennsylvania, Bris was playing around with Sam’s phone in the backseat when she realized something.

“Fuck, Massachusetts is right there next to Rhode Island, isn't it?”

“Yeah?” Sam looked over to confirm that from the map she was looking at.

“Yeah. That’s where we left Direl, right?”

“Yeah?” Sam said more cautiously. His eyes flicked to Dean in the front seat. This was his third day at the wheel now, and it was starting to show.

“So might be nice to have another helpin’ hand on this, yeah?”

Dean’s hands tightened on the wheel. The radio wasn’t all that loud right now and he could definitely hear Bris.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Sam said delicately.

“Why not? You’re bringin’ me along an’ he’s just as good with a knife as I am.”

“Direl  _is_ a surprisingly adept fighter,” Cas noted from the front seat.

Dean shot a glare at him. “What, so you’re Team Direl now?” he asked hotly.

“His personality and his skills are two separate considerations,” Cas said calmly. “He's showed himself to be quite capable against demons, though he is admittedly... unorthodox in his tactics.”

Dean looked at Cas for a long time before he had to turn back to the road. “Fine. Call him. If he gets his stupid ass killed it’ll be his own fault for agreeing to come.”

Sam showed Bris where his contacts were on his phone and she called him, her excitement already showing.

He looked forward again, and watched his brother silently glare at the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear on all that is holy, on every diety that was ever worshiped, that the fun fact about bees was the first fact that came up on Snapple’s website, and I’m not about to question Fate like that.


	8. Chapter 8

The sky was gray today.

The sky was always gray, but Mary thought it was particularly gray today.

They were sitting around a fire tonight, her and the little group of survivors, feeling more secure than usual behind their wardings. It was only to be expected, one’s confidence tends to get a boost when you’ve got a nephilim on your side.

But something was bothering Mary, something she needed to talk to Jack about. So when the boy got up to get another mug of water, she followed him over to the barrels.

He smiled as she approached him, a smile that Mary had come to learn meant he had just discovered something new, something wonderfully exciting, and she couldn’t help but return that smile before he could even mention what it might be.

“Look at this,” he said as he lifted his mug to her, “I wanted to show you before the last attack but there wasn’t time.”

Mary looked into the mug of water.

The _clear_ mug of water.

“Did you find a new water source?” she asked him.

“No!” he exclaimed, “I cleaned it!”

Mary looked wide-eyed between the mug and the barrels. “You purified the water?”

“‘Purified’… Yes,” Jack nodded resolutely, “yes, that’s what I did. It’s perfectly clean now. No one will ever get sick from it again.”

“That’s great, Jack,” Mary said with a soft smile. She looked out over the camp, “You’re so good to these people, you know that?”

“I’m trying to be,” he stressed. “They’re so good, and kind. They’re so happy when I help them.”

“Right.” She sighed a little and turned to him. “I kind of want to talk about that.”

“Talk about what?” he asked, the boundless enthusiasm suddenly vanished. Fear had crept into his wide eyes, fear that he’d done something wrong. It was a look that always broke Mary’s heart and she was quick to assuage him.

“Not about them, exactly, just this last fight.”

"Oh." He relaxed slightly, but was still tense. “Did I do alright?”

“Yes, of course you did. But—” she made sure to keep her voice soft but clear, “that last angel. You hesitated, Jack.”

The fear was back, but it was colored with guilt now. “I… I didn’t mean to…”

Mary considered him carefully. “Did you feel sorry for him?”

“No!” He snapped up, standing tall now. “He was going to hurt us, I had to—!”

“I know, Jack, I know,” she soothed. She placed an open hand on his back and rubbed gently, up and down. “I’m just wondering why.”

“He... “ Now Jack wouldn’t meet her eyes. “He just… He reminded me of…”

Mary recalled the face of that last angel, and her heart broke again.

“He kinda looked like Sam,” Jack finished.

“Jack...” Mary sighed, and she pulled him close, wrapping him in as big a hug as she could muster, “I’m so sorry... You must miss him so much. I miss him too.”

“I miss all of them,” Jack breathed into her shoulder, “I miss Sam and Castiel and Dean…”

“I know… Me too…” With an extra squeeze she pulled back, keeping her hands on his shoulders. “I understand, I do, but that kind of hesitation is dangerous out here. That angel could have taken advantage of it. We have to be quicker than them, Jack, if we’re going to survive this.”

She hadn’t meant to get quite so heavy, but really it was probably for the best. This was war after all, and he had to understand just how dangerous this all was. Jack was only— god, nine months old now— and as much as she wanted to hide him away from all of this, he was their best shot, and they couldn’t lose him.

And of course, Mary couldn’t lose him.

“You have to trust yourself,” she said, “trust your instincts and know that we’ll always have your back, whatever happens. _I’ll_ always have your back.”

Jack nodded in that terribly serious way that meant he heard her and he understood.

She smiled at him and tried to lighten the mood, never wanting to see that look on his face for too long. “Come on, I want some of this wonderful water, and then let’s get back to the fire.”

 _There_ was that smile again. He nodded eagerly and waited while Mary filled up two mugs. They returned to the fire, and Mary handed one of the mugs to Bobby. He took it with a little smile that lingered as Mary turned to sit back down. It didn’t leave until he took a sip.

“Water tastes funny,” he grumbled.

“I cleaned it!” Jack proclaimed proudly. “I _purified_ it,” he said, trying out the new word.

 _“Hmph,”_ Bobby frowned at the mug, “s’almost _too_ clean.”

Jack’s face fell, _“Too_ clean?”

“Tastes better with some a’ the crap in it,” he said, and yet he still took another sip.

Jack frowned, but he didn’t look hurt. Mary watched as the files were reshuffled in his mind, and it brought a small grin to her lips.

 

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

 

At some point, all little towns start to look the same.

They all have the same streets, the same lawns, the same trees, the same damned garden statues picked up from the same damned hardware stores.

So Dean wasn’t surprised in the slightest by the little town they found in Massachusetts, wasn’t surprised at all as they scouted out the run-down house Crowley had directed them to.

No, what surprised Dean was the way Cas reacted to it.

“What’s wrong, Cas?” Dean asked without even taking the binoculars from his eyes.

He felt Cas shift in the seat. “Nothing’s wrong, Dean,” he answered. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You know when you say ‘don’t worry about it’, I’m gonna worry about it, right?”

Dean could _feel_ Cas’s raised eyebrow. “Then why do you so frequently tell me ‘not to worry about it’?”

Dean’s chest clenched. Son of a bitch, sometimes Cas was like a goddamned parrot with this shit.

He lowered his binoculars, “Because you _actually_ don’t need to worry about it. Now tell me what’s wrong here before we go charging into something you knew better about.”

Cas frowned at the dashboard.

“Well it’s something to do with the house, right?” Dean said, answering a question Cas hadn’t asked.

Cas rolled his eyes to the roof as he nodded in frustration out the window, tight-lipped and trying not to scowl. He turned back to Dean. “This is where Asmodeus kept Lucifer and I prisoner.”

A  _wave_ of guilt slammed into Dean, and he recoiled with the force of it. He knew he wasn’t fast enough to keep it off of his face, but all he said was, “Oh,” and he turned back to the windshield, raising his binoculars again, not actually looking at anything through them.

“Oi there, did you jus’ say ‘Lucifer’?” Direl leaned forward between them from the back seat.

“Direl—” Bris took his shoulder and pulled him back.

“I did,” Cas answered him, “but he isn’t our concern today. Asmodeus is.”

“An’ that is…?” Direl asked.

“Honestly, did you not pay a lick of attention in services?” Bris chastised him. “He’s all over The Book of Solomon.”

“Your Bible gets many things wrong,” Cas said, “you shouldn’t rely on it for helpful information.”

Cas didn’t turn around to see, but his words may as well have slapped Direl across the face for the way he went completely silent and slowly fell back into his seat.

“Asmodeus is a Prince of Hell,” Dean grudgingly explained. “But he ain’t our problem today either. We’re going in, getting Gabriel, and getting back out.”

“Do you know where he might be keeping him, Cas?” Sam asked.

“I could lead us to the cells where I was held, but both Ketch and Crowley told us he was in Hell. This is only the ‘front porch,’ so to speak.”

Dean didn’t bother to hide his eye roll at the air quotes.

His phone rang then, and he pulled it out to check who it was. “Huh. Speak of the devil.”

“Lucifer?” Cas’s eyes went wide.

Dean let his eyes shut. “No. Cas. Crowley.”

“Oh,” Cas turned away from him. “I don’t like that turn of phrase.”

Dean quietly resolved to stop using it. He answered the phone, “Hey. Where are you?”

_“Always straight to business with you. Can’t I just want to have a pleasant chat?”_

“No. Later. I mean— Dammit, Crowley—”

Dean could hear the smirk in his voice.  _“I suppose it can wait. Have you made it to Massachusetts yet?”_

“Yeah, we’re outside the stupid house. Where are you?”

_“You were going to call me when you got there.”_

Dean could feel everyone’s eyes on him, and the car suddenly felt too small. He opened his door and stepped out as he said, “I’m not doing this with you right now. Where are you?”

Crowley sighed.  _“I’m elsewhere. Now this place isn’t as heavily guarded as you’d expect. You’re going to take out the ones at the front and go in the front door there.”_

“So you’re not even going to meet us?”

 _“Of course not,”_ Crowley scoffed.  _“Everyone in there thinks I’m dead or wants me dead. Obviously, I’m going in the back.”_

“So, what? We’re your distraction?”

_“Well...”_

“Crowley, we are not going to be your distraction!”

_“Of course you are, if you want this to work.”_

“Jesus Christ—” Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. “Look, just tell me your fucking plan and maybe we can completely scrap it and work out a better one.”

_“Oh, no, no, no, I can’t just tell you, it would ruin the surprise.” _

“I hate surprises!”

 _“Mm, not this one, darling,”_ he said.

And he hung up.

Dean stared down at his phone, just barely containing the urge to throw it. He shoved it in his pocket and got back into the car, slamming the door behind him.

“Dean, this is a stealth mission,” Cas reminded him.

“Don’t you start,” Dean pointed at him.

Sam leaned forward in his seat. “So what did he say?” he asked.

Dean sighed, his shoulders falling. “Motherfucker is using us as a distraction.”

“What?” Sam and Cas shouted.

 _“Don’t—”_ Dean threw up his hands. “Don’t start.” He dropped them on the steering wheel. “Crowley won’t even tell me his fucking plan. Says it’s a goddamn  _surprise.”_

“We should abandon this mission until we can come up with a better plan,” Cas insisted.

“And how the fuck are we going to get in without Crowley? He’s kinda holding all the cards, here, Cas!”

“We should have never allowed ourselves to be put in such a position—”

“Yeah, well, sorry, Cas, I guess I was too busy fucking everything up to figure out an alternative way into literal Hell.”

The car went uncomfortably silent. No one even moved as they waited to see how this broke.

“I’m going in,” Dean spat. He got back out of the car and headed for the trunk.

Cas shut his eyes, sighing through his nose as he opened his door and followed Dean.

Direl looked between Sam and Bris on either side of him. “Should we… give ‘em a minute?”

“I’m… not really sure,” said Sam.

Behind them at the trunk, Cas approached Dean cautiously. Dean didn’t look up from the pistol he was loading.

“Dean, I—”

“You don’t have to come, Cas,” Dean said into the trunk. “In fact you probably _shouldn’t_ come. Crowley’s probably gonna double-cross us and you shouldn’t be mixed up in that.”

“That sounds exactly like a reason I _should_ come.”

Dean harshly jerked back the slide on his pistol. “You should stay _here,_ and keep everyone else safe while I just go take care of this.”

“That’s ridiculous, Dean. You can’t just jump into Hell by yourself and expect everything will be fine.”

“Well, maybe it won’t be. Guess that’s just what I get for getting us into this whole shit-show in the first place.”

Cas’s lips parted. His frown deepened as he searched Dean’s eyes. “You’re not going in there alone,” he said, his tone solid and immobile even as his eyes betrayed their deep concern.

Dean’s upper lip twitched. He stared Cas down, ready to lay into him about what a  _hypocrite_ he was—

The car doors opened, and the others cautiously stepped out.

“Did we, ah, did we reach a decision?” Sam asked.

Dean glared at Cas a moment longer before he spun away, snatching a blade from the trunk. “Guess so," he jabbed. "Get your shit and let’s go.”

 

———

 

At least Crowley had been right about the guards. There were hardly any.

“I’m not surprised,” Cas said from his place behind Dean as the group snuck up to the overgrown chain-link fence.

“Sure, because demons aren’t that smart, right?” Dean snapped.

“I’ve been fighting demons for longer than your species has been able to write, I think I would know.”

Dean rolled his eyes to the sky. *Whatever, fuckin’ drama queen.*

Dean didn’t see Cas narrow his eyes at him from behind.

Dean peeked around the corner, “Two guards by the door. How do we get across the front yard to them?”

Cas looked down between the blades in their hands, and up to the guards on the porch. “Have you ever thrown that?” he asked.

Dean scoffed at him and flipped the blade with a dry smirk.

The two of them leapt out and whipped their blades across the yard, right into the chests of the demons. Their bodies crackled and fell to the weary floorboards, landing with two dull thuds.

*Oh, awesome,* Dean breathed, and they all headed into the house.

As they entered the foyer, Direl turned to Cas and asked him carefully, “Can you, say, _feel_ if them demons are here?”

“That’s not how that works,” Cas told him bluntly. “But this place is thick with their influence.”

Dean snorted. Cas furrowed his brow at him.

“Sorry, it just— That sounded kinda—" He schooled his face. "Nevermind. Where are these cells?”

“In the basement,” Cas said, still squinting at Dean.

Cas led them to a staircase near the back of the house and they descended into the darkness, weapons drawn.

“This area was more heavily guarded when I was here,” Cas warned them. “We’re going to need to—” He stopped.

“Need to what, Cas?” Dean asked from behind him.

Cas stepped over something draped across the last treads of the staircase. The body of a demon.

“That’s weird,” Sam piped up from his place at the back.

They made it down the stairs, each stepping carefully over the body, and followed Cas down a hall to the left. Here the walls were made of brick, and were strangely warm to the touch.

“The cells should be right up—” Cas stopped again. There was another body in the middle of the hall.

They approached the body, and found another a few feet away. Then another. And another. They followed the trail of dead demons past the row of regrettably empty cells into a larger room where they found—

“Hello, boys.”

—Rowena, sitting on a table, filing her nails.

Sam raised his eyebrows at the disturbing amount of bodies littering the floor. “You did all this?”

“Well you don’t have to look so _surprised,”_ she rolled her eyes as she slid off the table. “I'll tell you, it took you lot long enough. Didja go and take the scenic route or—?” Her eyes fell on Direl. “Oh, well _hello,_ there. You’re new.”

Direl raised a trembling hand in a wave. “H-hello to you, too.”

 _“Ooh,_ found yourselves a Taigh, did you?” she crooned at his voice. “And you look like another selkie, too. My, my boys, where _do_ you keep finding these _wonderful_ specimens?”

She was downright leering at him now, and Direl very obviously blushed under her attentions.

Dean’s head lolled back with the sheer force of his eyeroll. “Where’s Crowley, Rowena?”

“Oh, he’s already there, went 'round the back way,” Rowena said without taking her eyes off of Direl. “I’m here to send ye on through from here.”

“And any chance _you’d_ tell us what the hell his plan is?”

Now Rowena shifted her gaze to Dean, a teasing smirk on her lips and a malicious glint in her eye, and she said to him:

“No.”

Dean almost snarled at her.

Rowena moved around the table, picking up a small bowl on her way to the far wall where a sigil was already drawn in blood. She dipped her finger into the bowl, and drew another rune. “Alrighty, then. Now that you’re all here I’ll just finish _this_ and…”

She finished the last component, and it began to glow with a red and golden light. She stepped back, set the bowl on the table, and moved off to the side.

The light from the sigil grew, and from the center of it a void began to open. Almost immediately, it began sucking the air in the room down into its depths, the noise hissing disturbingly sharp and low and rising in intensity. As it reached its zenith, it’s pull became undeniable, and the group gripped at each other to stay grounded.

Then the heat reached them.

It radiated from the black hole now ringed in that red-gold light, unbearable from the start, somehow sharply dry and crushingly wet at the same time. For three of them, that heat began a cascade of memories, undeniable and terrifying. For the other two, it seared itself into them as new ones.

“Well, come on!” Rowena shouted impatiently over the noise. “I don’t have all day.”

Dean steeled himself first. He released his grip on Cas’s coat and strode forward. Cas called after him, reaching out a hand, but he was already through in a flash of light.

Cas pushed Direl further into Sam and Bris and ran through after Dean. The portal flashed again.

Sam, Bris and Direl inched their way forward.

“Any time now!” Rowena sighed.

Direl glanced her way, then rolled his shoulders back and took the last few steps to the portal. He flashed through, but not before they heard him shout in surprise.

Sam took a steadying breath and found Bris’s hand. “You ready?” he asked.

She didn’t answer.

Sam looked down to her. She was staring at the portal, her eyes flown wide in what could only be abject terror. She gripped his hand tighter, and now that Sam was paying attention, he realized what he'd thought was the wind pulling on them was actually Bris, trembling violently next to him.

“Hey...” he turned to face her fully. “Hey, Bris, look at me.”

Her eyes snapped to him. Tears were welling there, threatening to spill as her hair whipped around her in the pull of the portal. He pushed a stray lock out of her face and brought his hand down to cup her cheek.

"Hey, it's okay," he said, looking right into her eyes, "you don't have to go through, Bris, it's alright."

"What? No!" She gripped his wrist tight. "No, I can, Sam, I can do it—"

"I mean it, really, it's okay—"

"No, I can _do_ this, I _can_ —!"

 _"Bris,"_ he placed his hands over hers where they'd fisted into his shirt, "It's alright if it's too much—"

"It's not!" she burst, but Sam could feel the tears on her cheeks as she continued to shake. "It's not, I swear—"

“That is actual  _Hell_ over there, Bris,  _I'm_ freaked out to go over there. I mean it, it’s okay, you can stay here.”

“No...” She pulled back to look into the portal. “No, please, I can... I can do this for you, I can help you—”

“Bris.” Sam cupped her cheek again and brought her back. He leaned down to kiss her, softly, tenderly. “You can help here, too. I mean, hey," he chuckled, "if something goes wrong, I’m gonna need someone to come rescue me, right?”

Her lips parted and her shoulders fell as she looked up into his eyes. Then she tensed, and a faltering determination tried to take hold, “No. No, I— Everyone else made it through! Everyone else made it, an’ I can do anythin’ you damned lumberin’ gowls can!”

“‘Course, you can, darlin’,” Rowena said from her place off to the side. “But that don’t mean you have to.”

Bris turned back to Sam, her breath shaky and her hands still clutching at him. He leaned down to kiss her once more. “I mean it, it’s okay if you stay.”

"But Sam—"

"It's okay," he said against her lips, barely audible over the portal, “It's okay. I love you.”

He felt her answer better than he could hear it, “I love you, too, —” but the next word he didn’t know, and it was lost in the rushing air.

He pulled back from her and reached into his pocket, carefully handing over his phone. “Guess I should have been quicker to get you your own," he said with a smile.

"Sam—"

"I’ll be right back,” he said over the wind. “We’ll be right back, Bris.”

He moved away from her toward the portal. She held onto his hand until the last possible moment, his fingers slipping through hers.

Just before he stepped through, Sam paused and looked back.

“Do I really ‘lumber’?” he shouted over his shoulder.

“I— I’m sorry, love,” she shouted back, “ye can’t help it, you're just s’damned tall.”

With a laughing smile that could outshine the sun itself, Sam turned around again, and flashed through the portal.

 _“Hmph._ Boy ought to know better than to tempt the Fates like that,” Rowena quipped as she pushed herself up from the wall. Her hair whipped wildly around her, but she seemed to pay it no mind. “You’ll want to wait by the banger, darlin’,” she said to Bris, “won’t be safe here long.”

There was one last flash of light, and Rowena was gone. The portal howled and screeched, shaking violently before it finally collapsed in on itself, and Bris was left staring at the blank brick wall, the only reminder it had ever been there now ringing in her ears.

She sank to her knees, clutching Sam’s phone to her chest.

It was a long time before she picked herself up and headed back to the car.

 

———

 

Dean landed easily on the other side of the portal, his shoes clapping on the stone floor. He stood up and looked around at the hallway he now found himself in: Walls of dark stone, wrought-iron torches— yep, the place looked exactly the same since the last time he was here.

“Well, hello, Dean.”

Complete with one smarmy dick. "Hey, Crowley."

The only thing different was the heat. Dean was sure it hadn’t been this hot when he was here before. Either time.

Cas leapt through the portal after him. He whirled around, found Dean standing there, and straightened up, coming to stand right next to him.

Dean didn’t see the glare Crowley was giving them.

“Which level are we in?” Cas asked, getting right to business.

“Second ring, right by the lava lake,” Crowley answered.

Dean was about to make a sarcastic comment about clichés, but Cas nodded and said, “Yes, the dungeons should be nearby, so to speak.”

Just then Direl flashed through the portal with a yelp. He tripped and bumped into Cas, who bumped into Dean, and they all stumbled forward.

“Mother of God, what a shite way to travel,” Direl huffed as he got his feet under him and brushed off his pants. “S’pose I shoulda expected the heat, though, fuckin’ hotter than the devil’s armpit, whats that.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow at him. “Who the hell is this?” he pointed at him.

Direl turned around, just now noticing him. “Oh— My stars, pardon my manners there, I’m Direl.” He offered a hand for Crowley to shake.

 _“Mm.”_ Crowley begrudgingly took his hand. “Crowley.”

Direl froze mid-shake. His eyes went wide and his face paled.

“You’re the bastard—”

“Yes, yes,” Crowley took his hand back from Direl, “but I helped _free_ you from that production facility, so that must count for something.”

“What? Shit, right, that too!”

“What?”

“Where’s Sam?” Dean said, cutting off Direl’s answer.

“Well, he an’ Bris was right behind me...” Direl said as he turned back to the portal, which was noticeably quieter on this side.

“Something must have gone wrong—”

“No, Mother will be the last one through,” Crowley brushed off his concern, “just give it a moment.”

They waited and watched the portal.

 _"Hm."_ Crowley frowned. “I’m usually far more accurate about things like that.”

“I swear to god if you double-crossed us—”

“Please, that wouldn’t make any sense at this point,” Crowley rolled his eyes at Dean, “I need you as much as you need me right now. Need all of you, really, maybe even this culchie you brought along.”

 _“Oi_  now, ye bleedin’ tick—”

Direl was cut off by Sam coming through the portal, a wide smile on his face.

“What the hell took you so long?” Dean demanded.

Sam’s smile dropped. “Oh— Sorry, uh— It was just... Bris isn’t coming.”

“Why not?”

Sam glanced around the little crowd. “She just isn’t, alright?”

“Fine,” Dean said, backing off. 

Rowena stepped through the portal next, nearly running right into Sam. They awkwardly shuffled around each other as the portal closed behind her.

“Told your bird to wait by that monstrosity you call a vehicle,” she said up to Sam. “Don’t know how long before the reinforcements might arrive back at that house.”

“Thanks, Rowena.”

“Think nothin’ of it, I like the little thing, wouldn’t want to see her hurt for nothin’ now.”

“Right, is that everyone?” Crowley called out. “Fantastic, off we go then,” he said, not waiting for an answer. He started off and took the lead. Sam, Dean, and Cas followed right behind him, and Direl and Rowena took up the rear.

As they headed off down the long hallway, Dean fell into step beside Sam. “So really, why isn’t Bris coming?” he asked in a hushed tone.

Sam half-shrugged with a sigh. “It was just too much,” he answered quietly.

“Well, fuck,” Dean said. “I’m impressed she’s been on board this long.”

“Right?”

Dean gave his brother a stern look. “You know you’re a lucky sonofabitch, right?”

“Yeah,” Sam sighed, back to smiling now. “Yeah, I do.”

The line fell into silence as they walked on. And walked. And walked... For what seemed like ages they just kept going, never even turning a corner. The heat certainly wasn't helping any, Dean and Sam had striped their flannels almost immediately, tying them around their waists, but there was no relief from it, the kind of heat that slipped right under your skin.

The further they walked in it, the harder Dean found it to keep the memories at bay. He tried to distract himself, to pick anything else to focus on, but they were just walking and walking and there was just nothing else... His impatience flared as he wondered if they'd passed that torch already. And why were there no doors anywhere? And _why_ were they walking for  _so damned long?_ Why hadn’t they put that stupid portal closer to—?

There was a touch on his arm, and he felt suddenly cool. He turned and found Cas withdrawing his hand. He initially met his eyes, but quickly glanced away. “You seemed uncomfortable,” he mumbled.

“Thanks,” Dean grunted. He shifted so Cas could help Sam as well.

“You keep using that awful hoodoo of yours you’re going to get us all killed,” Crowley tossed back at them.

Cas tensed as he was pulling his hand back from Sam.

Dean looked between him and Crowley. “You gonna explain that or...?”

“I witnessed the Angel incursion unto Hell,” Crowley said, his flare for the dramatic peeking through. “When _I_ became king, far better protections were put in place.”

“So... you’re saying you're fucking us over with one of your stupid wardings again?”

Crowley whipped back and shot him a glare. “And here I thought a silent alarm was downright clever.”

“Sure, if you’re not trying to pull out an archangel. You know how to turn it off?”

Crowley’s upper lip twitched. “It would take an assemblage of my finest spellworkers—”

“Simple ‘no’ would be fine.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes and turned forward again.

And Dean assumed the conversation was over, but—

“Then why did he come along?” Direl asked.

Dean spun to glare at him.

“Because Feathers is useful even without that nasty slush of power inside him,” Crowley answered.

Dean spun to glare at _him._

Cas sagged, and Dean’s blood  _boiled._  He walked a little closer to him, brushing his arm against his in a small gesture. And of course the damned butterflies tried to make an appearance, but Dean snatched them in hand and he crushed them all, clamping down tight and allowing the heat and his indignant fury to burn every last one of them off.

This was way more important than that load of crap. 

Cas returned the touch, leaning into him some, but his posture didn’t improve.

After another awful eternity, they finally reached an actual intersection in the hallways and paused.

“Fuck, how much further, Crowley?” Dean panted.

Crowley scoffed at the question. “Might was well ask how many turkeys to change a lightbulb.”

Sam, Dean, and Direl stared at him.

“Time and space mean nothing in this plane,” Crowley tossed. Then he looked at them curiously, “I can only imagine what you lot are seeing, how long do you think we’ve been at it?”

“Forever,” they answered.

“Interesting,” Crowley mused. “If I had to translate it, it felt like a couple of minutes to me. Good to know the machinations for the mortal soul work throughout the realm, not just on the racks.”

Dean squinted at Crowley, then turned to Cas for some sort of explanation.

But Cas just shrugged. “I don’t have an appropriate reference for this. Perhaps something in Douglas Adam’s body of work?”

Dean groaned. Hopefully there wouldn't be any bowls of petunias.

The obvious follow-up question of ‘which way next’ was left unasked, and after an indefinable about of time, they started up again, heading down another hall.

After what _felt_ like only a short time, Cas suddenly stopped and threw an arm out in front of Sam and Dean.

“What?” asked Dean.

Cas listened, squinting at the floor before his eyes went wide. “Turn back.”

“What—?”

“Turn back!”

But it was too late. There were no doors in these hallways but suddenly demons were coming at them from all sides. At least three demons for each of them, swarming from all around. The fighting was close, knives flashing in every direction. Sam cried out as one got him and Dean whirled to help him but was caught around the middle by another. It reached up on either side of his head, ready to snap his spine—

Dean felt the burn of its mangled soul being scorched from the inside at the back of his neck, and the demon fell away.

“Close your eyes!” Cas shouted at the rest of the group, and they had only a second to duck and for Rowena to throw up a shield over Crowley, before Cas let loose a blinding flash of blue and the demons all fell to the ground, their eyes burnt out, their skin blistered and raw.

They all gaped down at the bodies as Cas moved to heal Sam’s laceration.

“What— You absolute _idiot!”_   Crowley rasped. “What did I _just_ tell you, you _complete moron!”_

“They already know we’re here.” Cas’s palm glowed over Sam.

“So you put out a bloody telegram over the wires for our location? You absolute idiot, _why?_ Why would you— Did it not cross your mind that perhaps _we_ could have handled that?” he gestured between himself and Rowena.

“You didn’t. So I did.”

Crowley balked and sputtered.

“Cas, buddy,” Dean came up and put a hand on his arm. “You did kinda jump the gun there.”

Cas deflated under his gaze. Direl flinched back. Crowley smirked.

“I…” Cas dropped his eyes to the floor, “I’m sorry, I—”

“Hey, no, sorry, I meant— It’ll be okay, we’ll figure this out,” Dean reassured him. “We just gotta get out of here. Can we hide? How does this Hell shit work?”

Rowena sighed. “Huddle up, boys,” she ordered. “Looks like I’m doin’ the heavy liftin’ again.”

They crowded together, and with a few words and some complicated waving, Rowena shifted them somewhere else.

“Goodness _gracious_  but you’re hard to hold onto,” she said to Cas. She looked around at where she’d taken them. “Oh, great, now we’re completely off course.”

“No, Mother, this is perfect,” Crowley said.

“We're on the seventh ring, we’re too close to the—”

“It’s perfect,” Crowley said with finality. “This way,” he said, and pointed down what appeared to the mortals as just another hall.

But as the group got going, Direl took Crowley by the arm and pulled him aside.

*I know what yer doin’,* he hissed at Crowley.

"What—" Crowley's initial incredulity at being manhandled quickly shifted to amusement. “Oh, do you now?”

“I do. _You’re_ the bastard what’s been drivin’ a wedge ‘tween those two!”

Direl missed the dangerous glint in Crowley’s eyes. “Haven’t the foggiest what you’re talking about,” he clipped.

“Don’t play daft, ye limey pom, even just now you been messin’ with Dean’s head an’ gettin’ him all off kilter. Been makin’ it nigh impossible to get them two to see—!”

Crowley spun on Direl, easily pinning him like a notecard to the wall with his hand at his throat. “Let me make something _terribly_ clear to you: I don’t know who you are, I don’t _care_ who you are, but you need to get it though your thick skull that you have no power here. This is _my_ home turf, this is _my_ plan. And it doesn’t _matter_ what little delusions you have in that pissant Paddy brain of yours because _you_ don’t matter. I don’t need you. You’ve been allowed to _stay_ because I don’t want to soil my shoes with your blood just yet. So you have a choice, my little culchie, you can _piss off_ willingly, or I’ll _make you myself.”_

Crowley released his grip on his neck and left him as fast as he’d stopped him, quickly catching up with the rest of the group. No one even noticed he’d been missing.

Direl rubbed at his throat, lip curling and shoulders heaving, and tried to catch up.

 

———

 

The hall dragged on forever. Or it didn’t. The whole thing still made no sense to Dean. All he knew was that this was another fucking hall and another fucking trek through this motherfucking goddamned heat. Didn’t these demons have any _creativity?_ It was just the same hall over and over, nothing to break it up, nothing interesting at all. Just brick after brick, line after line...

Dean realized the heat was starting to get to him again, but he knew better than to ask for Cas’s help now.

They reached a corner, and Dean almost cried at the mental relief of seeing something different. But Crowley stopped them before they could go around.

“Blast,” he spat. “There’s a patrol there, I can hear them.”

There was beat where no one moved.

“Well?” Cas lifted a brow at Crowley.

“Well, what? It’s an entire patrol!”

Cas rolled his eyes and lifted his blade. “Then _I’ll_ take care of them,” he jeered at Crowley.

“Wait, you idiot—!”

But Cas stepped around the corner before Crowley or anyone could stop him, lunging at the guards and out of their line of sight. They could hear the scuffle, heard the demons screaming, but then there was a great flash of light, and a shout, and then the hall went quiet.

Dean’s eyes darted as he listened as hard as he could, growing wider as the silent seconds ticked by.

"Cas?" he called out, a stupid move that he couldn't stop.

He received no answer.

Panic gripping him tightly as he lifted his own blade and darted out, ducking around Sam's reaching hand and rushing around the corner.

Bodies of demons were scattered, dead on the floor, at least twenty fuckers leading off down the hall. There was one still alive though, leaning heavy against the far wall, clutching their bleeding wrist, and they were standing right next to—

“Son of a _bitch.”_

...an angel banishing sigil.


	9. Chapter 9

Dean rushed the lone demon and thrust his blade against its throat.

 _“Where did he go?”_ he roared in its face.

“W-what?” it squeaked.

_“Where did you send him?”_

“I-I dunno!” it tried shrilly, “I just drew the thing like I was told and—”

Dean pulled back his blade and ran the demon straight through the stomach.

“Great! Now we’ve lost our bloody shield!”

Dean spun at Crowley’s voice. “What the _fuck_ did you just say?”

“Our damned tank, he was the fucking gun on our battleship and he went and got himself blown away!”

Dean made it to Crowley in three steps, stopping inches from his nose. “Don’t you _ever_ talk about him like that, do you hear me, Crowley?”

Crowley met his glare pound for pound, and instead of the fear Dean intended, something darker surfaced behind Crowley’s eyes, “I’ll talk about him however I please, _Dean._ He’s _ruined_ the bloody _plan.”_

“I don’t give a rat’s ass about your fucking _plan,”_ Dean growled. “Where the fuck did he go?”

Crowley glared a moment longer before he peeked around Dean at the sigil on the wall. He whistled low.

“What?” Dean demanded.

“Well that sigil there is a step above what you lot typically use,” Crowley said before he looked to him again. “Feathers is gone.”

Dean’s rage slipped a gear. “Gone?”

“Oh, don’t get your panties in a knot, he’s been sent back to Earth.” Crowley rolled his eyes, “He’s gone an bungled this entire operation because he couldn’t _wait_ for half a bloody second.”

But Dean wasn’t hearing Crowley anymore, too busy just trying not to fall to his knees with sheer relief.

“At least they won’t be able to _find_ us now,” Crowley huffed. “Come on, now, we’re getting close.”

The group moved past Dean to follow Crowley. Sam stopped, though, and put a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, you gonna be alright?”

Dean snapped up at him, and the fury he intended must not have gotten through because Sam just softened at him.

“I know. I’m sorry, Dean. But he’s back on Earth. He should at least be safe there.”

Dean fought the burn behind his eyes, but between the panic and the relief and the heat and his exhaustion, a few stray tears made it through. He wiped them off, hopefully before Sam could see, and turned to follow the rest of the group.

They came to another cross in the hallways, and Crowley stopped to face Dean.

“I need your help with a personal matter, Dean,” he said.

Dean would have stabbed him then and there if he was standing any closer. “We don’t have time for your fucking—!”

“And I’d like to use that _favor_ you owe me.”

Dean just stared at him. “What? _Now?”_

Crowley answered him with a smirk.

“You’re serious?”

“Completely.”

“You mother _fucking…”_ Dean growled in the back of his throat. He turned to Sam, “You keep searching with them. I’ll try to make this quick.”

“What?” Direl and Sam shouted.

“Are you serious, Dean?” Sam said, “We have to find—”

“Go on and try to break a deal with me, Moose, let’s see what happens,” Crowley shot at Sam.

“We didn’t— Those weren’t demon deals—”

“You made a promise to the King of Hell, the former King of the Crossroads, and you don’t think that carries some weight?” Crowley said, almost purring at this point.

“I— You—”

“I’ll be fine,” Dean stressed to Sam. “I’ll make it quick. In and out. Whatever this is, I’ll be right back.”

Rowena made a little noise in her throat.

Sam glared at Crowley. Crowley just smirked back and turned on his heel, leaving down a hallway. Dean could only offer Sam an apologetic look, and followed him.

“No wonder you boys have so much trouble,” Rowena said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sam snapped.

Rowena hummed disapprovingly at his tone. “Nothin’ to you, apparently. Now come on, you lumberin’ gowls, let’s go find our archangel.”

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

Bris leaned against the back of the Impala, clutching Sam’s phone like a lifeline.

“Well, that’s what it is, isn’t it?” she asked herself. “If he needs help he’s gotta be able to reach you, right?”

Wait— how on earth  _was_ he going to reach her? Did these phones even work in Hell? How could they? 

No, surely Sam would have thought of that.

...But what if he hadn't?

What if he'd thought it'd be fine?

What if he tried and he couldn't reach her? What if something went wrong? What if he tried to reach her, and he couldn't, and she'd never know he'd been hurt?

The thought pushed her fear over the edge, and the tears began.

How long would she wait here? Would it be days? Years? How long was this damned phone even going to last? Wouldn't she need to charge it?

She looked down at the car. She didn’t have its damned keys.

This wasn't how this was supposed to go. She'd been supposed to be there to help him. She'd done all this work to make sure he wouldn't get hurt, but she'd just let him leave again—

“Ye sure fucked up this time, you worthless shtate,” she spat, her voice wavering violently through clenched teeth. “Couldn’t pull yer shit together for one goddamned second an’ now— You stupid girl. You stupid, _stupid—”_

A sound caught her attention, voices, coming from behind her. She wiped at her eyes and pushed off the car, moving in an effort to look a bit less out of place in the middle of this neighborhood. 

But as she turned, she saw that the voices were coming from the house she had just left. A crowd of people in black suits was gathering,  _appearing,_ at the sidewalk out front.

"But  _why_ do we have to wait?" came one voice from the group.

"Because we're gonna need everyone for this," said another. "There was only one angel detected, and did you really not  _see_ what's down the road?" They turned to point at the Impala, and Bris barely ducked down in time.

*Demons,* she hissed. She leaned around the corner of the car to listen further.

"—you new? These are the  _Winchesters._ I'm not sneaking up on them alone, that's for sure!"

Bris sat back up. This must have been what Rowena meant to warn her about. 

She took a breath, and lifted a hand above her head, reaching up and back to slowly push at the handle to the boot with the tips of her fingers...

**chunk**

*Oh  _buíochas le Dia,*_ she breathed. No way she could have picked that lock without at least a screwdriver around.

"Alright, everybody, let's go," said the demon who seemed to be in charge. "Remember, the King wants them _dead,_ not dramatically-maimed-within-an-inch-of-their-lives, so no toying with them, and no speeches!"

The other demons reluctantly nodded.

"Good. Now let's go, and remember, with these guys we have to be ready for _any—_ "

_"Oi!"_

The group of demons paused, then turned around to look up the empty street behind them. There, in the middle of the road, they found a woman, just standing there with a large green and purple gun in one hand, and a blue hula-hoop in the other.

"Yeah, you, ye mangy fuckers!" Bris shouted at them.

The demon in charge frowned, looking up and down the road again, "Thought this neighborhood was supposed to be cleared..."

 _"Hey!_ I'm talkin' to you!" Bris barked, and started walking toward them.

"Should we... Should we kill her?" asked one of the demons.

"Uh, yeah, I guess," the leader shrugged. "Knock yourselves out."

Half the group eagerly took off towards her, already grinning in anticipation. As they approached, though, Bris stopped, dropping the hula-hoop to the ground and stepping inside of it. Then, when the demons got within three metres of her, she raised the gun, aimed, and—

_"Ahh!"_

The nearest demons stumbled to a stop, clawing at their faces now burning with holy water. Bris reached behind her and pulled out some of the angel blades she'd shoved in her waistband, whipping them one after the other at the screaming demons, each of them hitting their marks and dropping them to the ground.

The others rushed straight past the dead, running right up to Bris with their own knives raised—

"Fuck—!"

They were halted at the circle around her, unable to cross it. Bris reached over and grabbed the nearest one by the shoulder, running it right though the stomach. She drew back to let the body fall, spun around, and shot the others with her holy water again. A right chorus of screams and few well-placed stabs later, and the last demon dropped, leaving Bris alone standing in the roads, surrounded by crackling bodies.

"Bet ye damned cowards wish ye still had those fuckin' guns, ah!" she shouted at the other demons remaining on the sidewalk.

"Guns?" The leader tipped its head at her. "Are you... one of those selkies?"

"Damned right, ye hallion."

"Fucking  _Winchesters,"_ the demon sighed. "Yeah, okay, this has been fun, but I need to go hit our actual target, so we're gonna get going now, okay?"

"Oh, I'm right sure you are," Bris said as she reached into her pocket.

The demon raised an eyebrow, apparently curious despite itself. "What else you got there?" it asked.

"Oh just somethin' my fella has saved for an occasion such as this." She raised Sam's phone toward them, and hit play.

_"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus..."_

_"Oh come on!"_ the demon shouted as they all covered their ears.

She picked up the hula-hoop and started walking toward them. "Aye, I'd offer my sympathies, but, well, seein' as I'm more'n happy to see ye go—" 

A building noise from above interrupted her, and she looked up towards it. Something akin to those roaring jet planes was building high above them, but there wasn't a thing in the sky. Wasn’t a thing— except that growing swirl of blue light, now.

Her exorcism completely drowned out by the noise, the demons took their chance and ran off into the house.

"Hey—!" Bris shouted, but the thing above them interrupted her again.

With a flash of sound and light, something shot out of it and crashed into the ground, leaving an actual crater in the road. Bris jumped the fence in front of the run-down house for cover, flipping between watching the rubble and where the demons had just run off to, and waited for whatever had just landed in front of her to reveal itself.

When nothing came, she raised her water gun and a blade, and cautiously came out from her hiding spot. She slowly approached the crater, picking up her hoop on the way and taking back those thrown angel blades from the bodies of the felled demons as she went. She reached the edge of the smashed asphalt, and slowly peered over the side—

“Castiel!” she shouted in relief and horror. She dropped her hoop and leapt into the hole to crouched beside him, shaking him roughly, “Castiel!”

Cas didn’t move.

“Castiel!” she shouted down at him, “Come on, ye damned lug, wake up!”

He still didn’t move.

“Damn it! _Cas!”_

His eyes twitched, and with a sharp intake of breath he shot upright, nearly knocking right into her. He twisted around, fingers clutching at a blade no longer in his hands.

“Cas! Castiel, hey, calm down, I got you—”

He spun to her, brow deeply furrowed in confusion and daze. “Bris...?”

“Yeah, yeah, mate, it’s me, it’s only me—”

“I’m back on Earth,” he said, his head now swiveling to search around him. “No but— That shouldn’t be possible—”

“What?”fffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff

"—that demon shouldn't know how to do that." Cas pushed himself to his feet, and Bris caught him as he tried and failed to step out of the crater. “It shouldn’t have known how to do that, but it did. How—?”

“Slow down, lad, hey, slow down. What the heck happened down there?”

Cas turned to her, seeming finally to properly register that she was there. “Oh, ah— Well, 'everything went sideways,' as Dean would say.”

“What? You was only gone fer a minute!”

“It’s very complicated, time doesn’t work that way, especially not in Hell.” Cas looked back at the run-down house, and dropped his blade from his sleeve. “We have to get back to them. We have to—”

A man in a suit appeared next to them. Bris jumped back in shock, firing her watergun as Cas lunged at him. But the man just blinked away, reappearing at the lip of the crater, grinning maliciously but not making a move to hurt them.

Cas pushed Bris behind him and leveled his blade at the man, “What do you want, demon?”

“Oh not much," said the demon. "Only— I’m afraid I have some news for you, Castiel.”

Cas narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“Your humans, your little pets,” the demon sneered. “They’re dead, by order of the King.”

Cas and Bris froze. “You’re lying,” Bris breathed.

“Am I?” The demon lifted its hands from behind its back, producing two tattered and bloody flannels. Bris’s hand went to her mouth to stifle a cry. Cas’s blade fell a fraction.

The demon’s smirk widened, “And don’t think you’re just going to get them back, either. The King said they weren’t even worth turning into demons. They’re dead-dead, souls fed straight into the machine of Hell, straight into the fire. Watched them tear asunder myself. Won’t be bothering _anybody_ now.”

Cas’s arm fell limp at his side. His blade clattered to the shattered asphalt.

The demon leered down at his handiwork and dropped the flannels on the ground. “Goodbye, Castiel. Enjoy eternity knowing you did this to them. That you couldn’t even protect two measly humans from their ultimate fate.”

And he vanished.

Bris was rooted to the spot, staring at the crumpled shirts. Sam had just been wearing that… just minutes ago.

“He’s lying,” she squeaked. She swallowed and said it again, stronger, “He’s _lying._ The books— Sam and the books said that demons lie—”

“Demons don’t lie,” Castiel said. Flat. Hollow. “They give you the truth. They give it in twisted ways, or strikingly straight, but they don’t lie. Sam and Dean only say that when they don’t want to believe one.”

He flinched.

“Said.”

“No—” Bris tried to turn him, but he didn’t budge. She moved around him to look him in the eye, “No. It can’t be true, alright? I took out the lot that were goin' after them. They’ve faced far worse than a few—”

“They’re in _Hell,_ Bris!” Castiel roared at her. She flinched back from him. “They were in _Hell_ with no one but Direl on their side!”

Bris stopped, drawing her hands back from him. “Do you— Do you think Direl is—”

“Probably.”

Castiel picked up his blade and stepped out of the crater, facing the house.

“Crowley would have turned on them the moment I was gone. He probably planned the whole thing... Damn it, I _knew_ it. I _knew_ we should have abandoned this, but I couldn’t get Dean to _listen_ and I let them—”

“Castiel, this can’t be your fault.”

“It is only my fault.”

Bris reached out a hand, but let it drop back. “Cas…”

His fist twitched.

“You should leave, Bris.”

“What?”

He turned back to her, and his eyes now lit, burning hot and bright.

“You should leave here," he said, "it won’t be safe for you.”

 

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

 

Mary looked up at the sky. Still gray, but a tiny patch of blue was peeking through today. She marveled at it, grateful for that little reminder that there was still color to be found in this hellscape of a world.

A commotion at one side of the camp caught her attention. She heard shouts of greeting for a returning scout. She and Bobby stood from where they had been sitting, debating whether they needed to move the camp, and approached the gathered crowd. Jack noticed, too, and followed them over.

“Bobby!” the scout called out, “Mary! I have news!”

“Well, get on with it, Jakob,” Bobby grumbled.

Jakob beamed, unfazed by Bobby’s gruffness. “We just got word from the eyes outside of Michael’s fortress, the angels are leaving.”

“Why would they do that?” Mary wondered.

“Maybe he’s scared of me,” Jack offered, his eyes wide with the thrill of that idea. “Maybe we’ve been winning so many fights that he’s scared and he’s moving off!”

“Michael ain’t scared a’ nothin’,” Bobby said, “it’s probably some kind of trap.”

“Maybe he left something behind...” Jack furrowed his brow in thought, “Maybe he left something behind that we could find, and we could use it to our advantage!”

“Or it’s a trap,” Bobby repeated bluntly.

“Well if we give it a few days and the angels really move off, we’ll know it isn’t,” Mary shrugged.

“All the angels were accounted for,” Jakob said. “They’re all gone as of _now.”_

“You sure about that?” Bobby asked.

Jakob stood taller and narrowed his eyes. “My scouts are the best, Bobby. _Every_ angel was accounted for.”

“Alright, alright, don’t get yer undies in a twist,” Bobby conceded. “Let’s go check it out, then.”

 

~*~*~*~

 

It turned out that Jakob’s scouts were right and the fortress was indeed deserted. They made it inside without incident and combed the place for anything useful.

Jack, Mary, and a few of their friends found themselves near the back, in Michael’s war room, looking over a map. Jack wondered aloud what the little figurines were for.

“Well, those are Michael’s armies,” Mary explained to him.

Jack frowned at the map. “Why are they all here? In… Texas?”

Mary sighed. “I don’t know, but it’s valuable information.”

Jack smiled at her, glad that he'd been right and his idea had given them something helpful.

Then a shout came from the hallway. “Look who we found!”

Their friends entered the room and threw a boy to the floor in front of them. His clothes were even more ragged than those of the people back in camp, his black hair was terribly dirty, and his eyes were sunken and hollow. Those eyes darted around the room now, not holding anyone’s gaze, before they landed on Jack and flew wide.

“It’s Kevin Tran,” one of their friends spat, “The _Traitor Prophet.”_

“No!” Kevin’s eyes left Jack and snapped up to the man. “No, I’m not a traitor! Please, I’m not a traitor, I was working for God!”

“You were working for the _angels—”_

“Stop,” Mary held up a hand. She helped Kevin from the floor. “What are you doing here? Why were you left behind?”

Kevin seemed to shake under her touch. He wouldn’t meet her eyes, and his gaze wouldn’t stop flicking to Jack. “I-I don’t know. Maybe… Maybe I wasn’t useful anymore—”

“Sure, I’ll believe that when pigs fly out my ass—” another one of their friends started.

 _“Harold,”_ Mary cut him off with a glare and a pointed look at Jack.

“Sorry, Mary,” Harold shuffled his feet. He looked up again, pleadingly, “But you _can’t_ believe what he’s saying, right? Why would the angels leave their Prophet?”

 _“I’m not their Prophet!”_ Kevin shouted, causing Mary to flinch. He clutched at his jacket. “I’m not their Prophet…”

Jack watched him carefully. His movements were sharp and his speech was so… unpredictable. Something in his gut told him to be cautious.

“Sure you’re not, kid,” Harold spat, “That’s why I’ve got a list of dead friends a mile long, and it’s all on _your_ hands!”

“No, you don’t understand!” Kevin pleaded. “You don’t understand, God chose me and then the angels… And everyone was dying and…”

Harold and their other friends continued to glare harshly at Kevin.

Kevin shook his head, tears cutting down his cheeks as he looked between them all. “You don’t understand… You don’t understand _nobody understands!”_

He ripped open his jacket and his shirt, revealing a sigil carved into his chest. Everyone leapt back from him as Jack moved forward, arms spread in front of everyone.

 _“Nobody understands!_ Michael just _takes_ and _takes_ and— I couldn’t get the spell right. I couldn’t get it right, so he threw me in the dungeon and I— I couldn’t do it anymore.” He looked right at Mary. “I couldn’t take it anymore. So I… So I…”

He held his wrists out, revealing long, white scars.

“But Michael brought me back. He brought me back and said I had to fix it. And I was so _scared—_ so scared— so I did. I gave him that spell but I begged— I _begged_ for him to just let me go. And he said he would! He said all I had to do was—”

He looked down at the sigil.

Mary reached out a hand, “Kevin, you don’t want to do that—”

 _“Of course I do!”_ Kevin screamed. “I just want— All I want—” He looked between them all again and shifted his weight. “None of you understand.”

His hand flew up—

Jack threw his hand out and hit Kevin with a blastwave. The wall behind shook as he slammed against it. He held Kevin there as long as he could, and by then Mary and their friends had gotten near enough that they were able to restrain Kevin when he slid to the floor.

 _“Please!”_ Kevin screamed, “Please, I have to! _Please!”_

But their hold on him was sure, and he couldn’t struggle free. Mary’s expression toward the boy was soft even as he continued to scream, to beg for them to let him go. She looked up to Jack.

“Jack, honey, come here, please,” she said gently, barely audible over Kevin.

Jack approached slowly. His gut was churning at the sight of Kevin, though he wasn’t sure why.

“Can you heal these cuts, please, Jack?” Mary asked him.

Jack nodded, and leaned down with a hand outstretched.

“No!” Keven shouted, “No! Please! I have to! I have to do this, please!”

Jack closed his eyes and laid his hand on Kevin’s chest, healing his wounds.

 _“No!”_ Kevin’s screams were quickly turning to sobs, “No… No, _please!_ I— I need to do this— I have to! I have to see her again...! Please…”

No longer a threat, the others released Kevin, and Mary pulled him in, holding him tight to her chest.

 _“Please…”_ he sobbed, clutching at her shirt, “Please, I just have to see my mom again—”

“I know, I know...” she murmured into his hair, “I know, honey…”

They stayed in the war room for a long time, Mary whispering reassurances to Kevin as he let it out, as he let it all out in a stream of sobs and wails and curses. Jack backed away once his part was finished, but he could still hear Kevin, could feel his agony as though it were his own. Jack wondered which part of him was finding that, holding on to Kevin’s suffering. He wondered if it was something to do with his powers, or just his human heart, resonating with another’s profound pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Buíochas le Dia_ = "Thank god!" Literally "Thanks be to God" (Bwee-oh-KHas leh Djee-ah)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Possible Assault Triggers in this Chapter*** I would be more than happy to provide an alternate version of this chapter to those who want to avoid that. It’s a relatively short section, so no problem to accommodate that for you.

As soon as Crowley and Dean were out of sight, Rowena paused and muttered, “Might've been perfect for _him,_ but—” and reached up to place her hands on Sam and Direl.

They were suddenly in another hallway, one Sam actually recognized. The dungeons were nearby.

Rowena beamed at the brick around them. “Much better. Alright, this way, now—”

“No, hang on a minute.” Sam grabbed her arm. “What the hell is Crowley doing, Rowena? What's his plan, here?” he demanded.

 _“Ohh,_ no spoilers, darlin’,” she teased, and tapped Sam’s hand with a tiny shock forced him to release her. “Besides, you’ve got other things to worry about right now.”

“Crowley just took my brother— alone— into the depths of Hell. I don’t think I have anything else right now.”

“So the score of demons comin’ at us doesn’t count?”

“What?”

Direl silently clutched Sam’s arm and pointed down the hallway, directing his attention to the crowd heading right for them.

“Um— Yeah, no, that counts,” Sam conceded.

———

Dean and Crowley headed swiftly down their hallway, exactly as long and bland as all the last ones. Dean allowed them to walk in silence for what might have been a long time, and Crowley didn’t try to make conversation either, but eventually, Dean's annoyance and sheer boredom won out.

“What are we doing?” he demanded, his frustration bubbling right on the surface.

Crowley didn't turn around to face him. “Well I can’t go and ruin the surprise _now.”_

“Crowley—”

“Dean.”

Dean clenched his jaw, and returned to fuming in silence.

Then a detail caught his eye, and in a rush of memories he knew exactly where he was. Probably.

“Hang on a fucking second, are we heading for the throne room?”

Crowley rolled his eyes, “I told you I didn’t want any spoilers.”

“We’re not here for Asmodeus, Crowley!”

 _“You’re_ not here for Asmodeus,” Crowley corrected. Then they rounded a corner, and a familiar set of doors came into view. Crowley stopped just in front of them. “So you just sit back, relax..." He turned and winked at Dean. "...and enjoy the show.”

The doors blew off their hinges without Crowley moving a muscle.

———

The group of demons were running at them now, getting closer with each second.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Sam drew his Knife.

One of the demons reared back, about to throw its own knife at them.

_“Shiiit—”_

The knife whipped at them—

"Shit!"

—and it stopped in mid-air.

Sam looked up from where he had ducked and thrown up a hand. “Oh, shit,” he smiled.

———

Fragments and debris rained down on the crowd of demons in attendance. They slowly rose from where they'd ducked and swiveled to face the doors— or rather, where the doors had once been— and Asmodeus sat up straight in his throne. “What in blazes—?”

“No, no, please, don’t get up on my account,” Crowley said as he strolled into the throne room, his hands still tucked into his pockets.

Dean carefully peeked around the doorframe.

“I most _surely_ won’t.” Asmodeus looked him up and down. “Who in the hell are you supposed to be?”

“What, you don’t recognize your predecessor? The alpha to your beta? The vastly superior original model?”

Asmodeus squinted at him. “Azazel is dead.”

Crowley rolled his eyes.

“You know, I don’t much care _who_ you are, actually.” Asmodeus turned to his courtesans, “Call the guard—!”

“Your guard,” Crowley cut him off, “is busy with my little distraction." Crowley began to walk toward the throne. "There’ll be no one here but pencil pushers.”

“Then I’ll deal with you myself,” Asmodeus growled. He stood from his throne and threw a hand up at Crowley.

A gentle breeze ruffled Crowley’s coat. His step never faltered.

Asmodeus looked between his hand and Crowley.

Crowley smirked.

———

“Oi, that’s new right?” Direl gaped at Sam, “I didn’ just miss that this whole time?”

Sam smirked. He raised his hand at the quickly approaching demons. He focused all he had on them and—

One demon sort of stumbled.

“Shit,” Sam’s face fell.

“Oh, _honestly."_ Rowena pulled Sam back by his shirt and stepped in front of him and Direl.

———

Asmodeus swiped his hand through the air again. Crowley’s hair was slightly blown back. His slow approach remained unbroken.

Asmodeus stared. “Who are you?”

Crowley finally lifted a hand from his pocket and flicked his wrist. Asmodeus was pulled forward, away from the throne.

“We’re getting to that.”

———

When Rowena raised her own hand at the demons, the change in the air was immediate. Static crackled in Sam’s hair and goosebumps spread across his skin.

The demons were only feet away when she let loose. A shockwave of purple shot down the hall, vaporizing every last demon before them.

She lowered her hand and turned back around as the glow slowly faded from her eyes.

*Jesus, Joseph, and Mary…* Direl breathed.

Rowena bestowed him with a sly little smirk before she rounded on Sam, “What in the _hell_ was that?”

“What—? I—”

“What, you thought you were gonna traipse in here and start takin’ out whole crowds after a few days? I mean, have you even been practicin’? That one there hardly even wavered!”

“Well, I— You—”

“I been at this for _three. hundred. years,_ boy! You’re gonna get yourself and the rest of us _killed_ with cocky shit like that! So you just stick to your wee Knife there and leave the hard parts to me, got it?”

Sam glanced at his Knife with a slight frown.

She turned on her heel, her long red hair fanning out around her, and left down the hall.

Sam was about to follow when Direl grabbed his arm.

“Oi... lad…” his gaze followed Rowena, “is she single?”

Sam looked between him and Rowena, chuffed, and moved on down the hall.

“What?” Direl called after him. _“What?”_

———

Crowley paused in his march to the throne, pulling Asmodeus forward until he stood with him in the middle of the room.

“Tell me, Prince Asmodeus, when did you transfer the souls of Hell over to yourself?”

Asmodeus glowered at him.

“You _did_ transfer the souls, didn’t you?”

“What are you goin’ on about?”

“Ah, and Dopey strikes again,” Crowley jeered. He started walking again, moving to circle the Prince, the eyes of the courtesans and Dean following him. “You know, they weren’t very kind to you in Demon Sunday School. Azazel was cunning, Dagon was loyal, Ramiel was bold—well, back in the day, anyway,” Crowley shrugged, “but Asmodeus… he was just… there.”

“You better get to your _point,_  boy, before I—”

“I’ve been able to come back time and again, Asmodeus. I have defeated knights, princes, and Lucifer himself for this throne. And who am _I_ really?”

“Some uppity pup who’s gettin’ on my last—”

“Harsh,” Crowley said. “But essentially true. I’m just an ordinary crossroads demon, O Princely Asmodeus, but you know what I did that it seems no one on this bloody chess board ever bothers with?” Crowley stopped his circling and spread his arms wide. _“I_ read the rulebook.”

“What rule—” But Asmodeus was shoved to his knees by an invisible hand.

“My god, it’s not a _literal rulebook,_  you twit. Honestly, how do you even tie your shoes in the morning...”

“I _swear_ I am goin’ to—”

 _"You_ are going to do nothing. Because while you were busy making a mess of my kingdom, you somehow forgot to go through the procedure of aligning the power of your Realm to yourself.” Crowley moved again, slow, deliberate, and smooth. “I can only assume that you _actually_ forgot, had no idea, or thought your Princely powers would be enough.”

Asmodeus lurched in his invisible hold, but to no avail.

“So who the hell am I?” Crowley said, stopping once more, now standing between Asmodeus and the throne. “I’m Crowley, King of Hell, and I’m going to pick up where I left off...”

He whipped out a gun from his pocket and shot Asmodeus right between the eyes. The Prince’s body crackled with his orange energy, crumpled to the floor, and was still.

“...stabbing you up your little black-eyed asses.”

———

“This way,” Rowena ordered. They headed around a corner and found a hall lined with cells.

“Never thought I’d be happy to see bars again in my life,” Direl quipped.

Something rumbled through the air around them. Well not through the air, exactly, more like through the very existence of their surroundings. As if something huge had just shifted in the makeup of this place.

“Huh,” Rowena frowned at the walls, “thought that would be bigger.”

Sam spun Rowena back by the shoulder. “What the hell is Crowley doing, Rowena?”

“You’re a terrible nag, you know that—?”

“Oi! Up top!” Direl shouted. He jumped around Sam and Rowena and stabbed a demon that had just materialized behind them.

Rowena gave him an appreciative look, and it might have been the stifling heat, but Sam was pretty sure Direl blushed.

“I, um… So yer boy’s ‘round heres somewhere, right?” Direl fumbled, and turned to continue down the hall.

Before Rowena could follow Sam caught her attention again.

“Okay, I have literally watched you stop bullets, what the fuck was that?”

Rowena shrugged and looked after Direl. “Wanted to see how he handled that blade,” she said, and went to follow him.

Sam shut his eyes and sighed at the ceiling.

They checked each cage in the hall, finding one after the other completely empty. Rowena assured them there were no cloaking spells on them, but they were nearing the end of the hall and—

 _“Oi,_ another damned lot of ‘em!”

They turned around to see yet another crowd of demons heading right for them.

“Damned _idiots,”_ Rowena spat, “Didn’t they feel—” she stopped herself. “See if you can find your damned angel!” she shouted at Sam. “We might have to beat a hasty retreat after all.”

“After all—?”

_“Go!”_

Sam ran down the hall, checking each cage as quickly as he could. But as he ran, a thought struck him and his stomach dropped.

What if Gabriel wasn’t even here? What if he was being held somewhere else entirely? What if this was all part of Crowley's plan and it was all just a—

Wait, there, in the last cell, there was a man. Sam skidded to a halt and gripped the bars as he looked inside, and his heart followed his stomach down.

The man’s clothes were ragged and torn, dirty beyond all measure. His hair was long, greasy, hanging in clumps rather than locks. He was huddled against the wall, making himself as small as possible and yet trying to shrink himself smaller still. When Sam reached the bars the noise of it drew the man’s attention, spooking him and snapping his face up. His eyes were wide, as wide as they could be, and darting, almost vibrating with how quickly they tried to take in everything at the door. Blood and grime were caked on his skin, so thick that Sam didn’t notice the worst of it at first. But he saw eventually. His lips… his lips were sewn shut.

So disheveled and broken was the man in front of him that he should have been unrecognizable, but Sam would know this face anywhere. It had haunted his nightmares for years; first those burning with fear and fury, then those washed in guilt and regret. So Sam knew exactly who this was, and it cut something deep inside of him to see him now. To see him small. To see him beaten.

Sam’s hand shook and his voice wavered as he reached out to him.

“Gabriel,” Sam breathed.

———

Crowley turned from the throne to look out at the doorway. Dean was still there, staring at him with honest awe.

Perfect.

He looked around at the court of demons still in attendance.

“And I suppose you’re all bloody loyalists aren’t you?”

"What?" “No, your highness!” “He was a pretender—” “Long live King Crowley!”

Crowley snapped his fingers and they exploded in clouds of dust. All except one.

Crowley was pleased to see that Dean’s eyes could indeed be widened further.

“Go forth and spread the word that your King has returned,” he ordered the lone, hapless demon.

The demon uncovered its head and looked around the room. Its gaze landed on Crowley.

Crowley narrowed his eyes.  _“Now.”_

The demon squeaked and sprinted from the room, Dean's incredulous eyes tracking it as it ran down the hall.

“You... you just—” Dean turned back to Crowley as he stepped around the doorframe into the room. He looked between the body of Asmodeus and the piles of ash on the ground. “That had to be fifty demons...”

Crowley sauntered across the hard floor to him, his shoes echoing on the stone. “I’m capable of many things, Dean. I’ve told you that before.”

“That... that was...”

“Magnificent? I’m aware.”

Dean stared, his eyes darted between Crowley’s. “How…? That gun—”

“Oh, this?” Crowley removed his hand from his pocket and raised the gun for Dean to see. “Just a little something I had Mother whip up. You know, I had that other one for years before I gave it to you. You do remember that I was the one who gave it to you, don’t you? While I had it I was able to study it inside and out. Had all the details up here all this time,” he tapped his temple with the barrel. “Got all sorts of goodies up there just ripe for the sharing, by the way. But, alas, it would seem you’ve gone and lost the first one so...” Crowley flipped the gun in his hand and held the handle out to Dean.

Dean looked down at the gun. He slowly reached up to the handle, “I… Christ, thank you, Crowley—”

Crowley didn’t let go.

“Stay here, Dean.”

Dean’s eyes snapped to his.

———

“Let’s _go,_ Sam!” Rowena called back to him.

Sam snapped back from his disbelief and dropped to one knee, pulling his lockpicking kit from his pocket to work the lock on the door.

But it wouldn’t budge.

“Fucking _demons_ and their fucking _magical locks!”_

He stood again and whipped out his gun, intending to just shoot the damned thing off—

Gabriel jumped and shouted through his stitches, the strain releasing fresh blood from the wounds as he scrambled back into the far wall.

“No! Sorry! I—” Sam hurriedly holstered his gun. He looked around frantically. Rowena was busy keeping the demons at bay. Direl couldn’t help here— He looked down at his hands. Then back to the lock.

He sighed. “Well, here goes nothing.”

He lifted a hand and focused on the lock. It twitched under his concentration, bolstering his resolve. He jerked his hand down, and the lock jerked with it, and Gabriel flinched.

“Sorry,” Sam said, but he had to continue. He jerked again and Gabriel flinched again.

Each jolt of the lock made Gabriel jump, and each jump made Sam that much more focused, each tug ringing in his mind, each wince wrenching on his heart.

Each twitch made him see. Each flinch made him remember.

**Clang**

Remember himself.

**Clang**

Remember the fear.

**Clang**

Remember the helplessness.

**Clang**

Remember the _hurt—_

The lock snapped off and clattered to the floor. Sam pulled the door open and approached Gabriel in his corner, stepping slowly forward with his palms raised. But Gabriel drew back further, trembled harder, and looked up at him with pure terror in his eyes.

_Ye can’t help it, love, yer just so damned tall._

*Shit, sorry,* Sam whispered under his breath, and he crouched down in front of Gabriel.

“Hey, Gabriel. Hey, it’s me… It’s Sam… Sam Winchester, do you remember me?” Sam smiled as honestly as he could.

Gabriel stared at him. His twitches slowly faded and something like recognition reached his eyes.

“Yeah! Yeah, it’s me.” Sam’s smile widened. “I’m getting you out of here, okay? We’re getting you out.” He reached a hand out to Gabriel, who flinched when Sam’s hand met his arm. But Sam kept his movements slow and carefully brought him up to his feet. “Great, yeah, that’s great, Gabriel! Alright. Okay,” he looked Gabriel in the eye. Gabriel shied from it but Sam needed to hold his attention, “Now I’m sorry, but we have to move fast, okay? It’s gonna suck for a little bit, but I’m getting you out. I promise, Gabriel, I’m getting you out of here, okay?”

For a moment it seemed like he understood, or understood enough. But then fear passed behind his gaze, like he was remembering something, or expecting something, and he jerked back from Sam. Gabriel’s eyes darted around the cage, searching, searching for something hiding in the corners.

"Wait, wait, hey—!"

But then those eyes landed on Sam. On Sam’s chest. And he stilled again.

He relaxed under Sam’s touch, looked up into his face, and shakily nodded.

“Okay, great. Can you walk?” Sam gently tugged on Gabriel’s arm, urging him forward. Gabriel resisted for a moment, but took an unsteady step forward. Then another. Then he faltered and landed against Sam.

“Hey, that’s okay, that’s okay,” Sam reassured him. “Plan B, come on, we’re Star Wars-ing this.”

Gabriel gave him a quizzical look until Sam turned and dropped to his knee. He turned back over his shoulder, “Come on, Yoda, let’s go!”

Recognition found Gabriel again and he climbed onto Sam’s back.

“Great! Okay, now here comes the sucky parts. Just hang on, I’ve got you, Gabriel.”

He ran out of the cell and Gabriel snapped his arms tight, nearly choking Sam. But he didn’t have the luxury to care at the moment and ran over to where Rowena and Direl were standing in a pile of bodies.

“Great,” Rowena said, almost sarcastically as she looked up at Gabriel, “Fantastic. Alright, we need to get out of here—”

“We have to find Dean!” Sam cut her off.

“Yeah, what about Dean-o?” Direl echoed.

Rowena clenched her fists. “There’s no _point—”_

“We’re not leaving without Dean!” Sam said, leaving no room for argument.

Rowena sighed through her teeth in frustration and tossed her arms, “Fine! We'll go find precious Dean-o! Might have been long enough by now, who even knows down here!”

She put her hands on their arms, Sam held Gabriel tight, and they vanished.

———

“What?” Dean breathed.

“Stay. Here. With me,” Crowley repeated. He looked pointedly around the room, “I have my kingdom back, _you_ have your soul back, we could have it all again. The Adventures of Growley and Squirrel: Squirrel Rides Again! Second verse, same as the first, but vastly improved this time!”

“I… Crowley, I…”

“Stay with me. Rule by my side like you were always meant to. You and I, together. Taking what we want, doing as we please for all eternity onward.”

Dean finally seemed to pull himself together and shook his head, “Crowley, I don’t...”

Crowley narrowed his eyes at Dean. “What's giving you pause? Is it this spell you’re after? I’ll get you every piece, enough supplies to open a _thousand_ rifts.”

He stepped even closer, crowding Dean against the wall. His hand slipped up the barrel of the gun and closed over Dean’s.

"Crowley..."

“I have an entire _Realm_ at my beck and call, Dean. I’ll send my lackeys off to collect your mother, your little nephilim boy, anything you want. 

"But—"

"I’ll give you everything. _Everything,_ Dean, do you understand?”

Dean moved minutely back, “Crowley, please...”

 _"Oh,"_ his eyes fell heavy and sharp, “you know I always loved it when you begged.”

He lunged forward and took Dean’s lips for his own, forcing him back into the wall just the way he used to crave, used to provoke him specifically for, used to—

Dean shoved Crowley back, and though he only managed to move him an inch or two, Crowley laughed into it all the same, “Yes! God, I missed this!”

“Crowley—!”

“I’m going to do everything you loved, everything I used to do to you—”

 _“Crowley, STOP!”_ Dean landed his fist squarely on his jaw, and though it didn’t hurt a bit, the shock of it knocked him back.

They stared at each other, each breathing heavily into the obscenely hot air. Crowley’s coat was out of place, open on one side. The Colt hung loosely from Dean’s hand.

“I’m not—” Dean shook his head. “No, Crowley.”

“What?” he breathed.

“No.”

He fell back another step, his hand moving up to the red blooming under the scruff on his jaw.

“‘No’…?” Crowley said. Then louder, _“‘No’?_ I— No, what did I miss? What else can I offer?”

“Nothing, Crowley.” Dean threw a hand out at the throne room, “I don’t want this. I don’t think I _ever_ wanted this.”

“Alright, but you wanted me.”

Dean didn’t answer that.

“You wanted _me,_ Dean!”

“Maybe I did!” Dean shouted back, “But that was then. That was years ago—”

“What’s a few years compared to the chance at _eternity?”_

“Crowley—”

“I’ll take it all. I’ll take all of it again. All the _shit_ you did to me, the running around, the cavorting—”

“Like you even cared if I—”

“Of _course_ I fucking cared! If you’d taken one _bloody_ second to look around— Just looked for one _god damned second—”_

“Well I didn’t, alright? I didn’t then and I’m still not now! I don’t want this, I don’t want any of this! I want—” he stopped himself.

Crowley’s lips parted, he shifted to the other foot. “Wait.”

He straightened his coat and pointed a finger at Dean, “Wait one bloody minute. I see what this is.”

“There is no ‘what this is’—”

“This is about him.”

“No. It’s—”

“You’re choosing him over me.”

“I’m not choosing—”

“You’re choosing _him_ over _me?”_

“It’s not like th—”

“You’re choosing that blithering pile of _incompetency_ over—”

“Dammit, Crowley, I have _always_ chosen him over you!”

Crowley reeled as Dean stared him down, shoulders heaving now.

Crowley knew that. He did. That had always been how it was in the past. But this wasn’t then, this was now. This was now and...

“I _died_ for you.”

“And he hasn't—?”

“Castiel throws his life around _like a blind man with a_ _BLOODY GOLF CLUB!”_ Crowley roared. “But I wanted to _live!_ I wanted to _retire!_ I wanted—!”

He stopped.

He stared at Dean.

“You don’t care.”

“Crowley—”

“You don’t care. You’ll always chose him. No matter how many times he fails you. No matter _how_ many times he _fucks_ things sideways—!” Crowley took a step back. “No matter what I do... You’re always going to choose him.”

“Crowley...”

“No. No,” he huffed, sharp and humorless. “No, this is good... This is good!” His laugh pitched high, bordering on hysterical. _“Oh..._ No, I need this, Winchester. I need to hear this. Needed to hear this almost a _year_ ago,” his head tipped to the side, eyes flashing wide, “but... I need to hear this."

He shook his head at Dean. “I should have seen it sooner,” he said. “It’s _always_ been about him. You selfish bastard, you were never going to enjoy what we had, were you? You couldn’t stand that he never came looking for you. Couldn’t stand the thought he didn’t care. You had me for your little plaything but I was never going to be enough, was I?”

His gaze left Dean. A hand came up to run over his mouth.

“Was _any_ of it—?” Crowley stopped himself. “No. Wait. I don’t want to know.”

He turned away from Dean and walked toward the door. “No... No, you can run back to your broken little angel, boy. I’m done with you. For good this time.”

Dean raised his eyes from the hole he was staring into the floor, and if Crowley had been looking he might have seen something breaking behind them. Dean watched as he drew even with him, and he tried one last time.

“Ferg—”

“ _NO._ ” Crowley rounded on him, pinning him back to the wall without laying a finger on him. “Don’t you _dare,”_ he snarled, “You _bastard,_  don’t you _even_ dare.”

Dean just stood, unable to meet his eye, palms pressed back against the hot brick.

Crowley turned to the door once more. “Get the fuck out of my kingdom," he spat. "I’m not going to ask twice.”

And then he was gone.


	11. Chapter 11

Rowena, Sam, and Direl appeared in another hallway. Sam couldn't place his finger on it, but this one was different than the others. Gabriel’s grip tightened around Sam's neck, and this time he had to reach a hand up to adjust his arms.

“Alright, Rowena, where to?” Sam asked.

But Rowena didn't seem to hear Sam. She was looking around at the walls, the floor, the ceiling. She placed a hand on the hot brick and frowned.

“Somethin’ went wrong.”

Sam and Direl looked around as well, but nothing stood out.

 _“What_ went wrong?” Sam asked.

Rowena turned down the hall, “We have to find Fergus—”

Sam stepped in front of her, “We have to find Dean!”

Gabriel flinched at Sam's shout.

“Dean's gonna be the _least_ of your problems if we don't get to Fergus before—”

"Hey," Direl perked up, looking past them both, “Thenk we solved one problem.”

Down the corridor, at a cross in the hallway, Dean had come around the corner.

 

———

 

First, Crowley was empty. He felt nothing. 

Then all at once, he was full. Full to burst. Full to _explode._

_“You!”_

The demon he roared at, the first demon he happened to run into in the hallway, jumped a foot in the air and spun to the King.

“My liege! So wonderful to see your return—!”

“Go find that angel and _get rid_ of him.”

The demon choked a little. “But— my Lord— I’m not a—”

“I don’t care _what_ you are, you find Castiel and you _destroy_ him, do you understand? I don’t care what it _takes,_ I don’t care what you have to _do,_ I want him so _thoroughly eviscerated_ that I never even _think_ of that feather duster again! _Do you hear me?”_

“Y-yes, your Highness!” the demon squeaked, and it vanished.

Another one came running down the hall to him.

“The Archangel Gabriel has escaped, my King,” it reported. “The intruders have been found but with the shift in authority we await your orders—”

“Kill them all,” Crowley spat.

The demon nodded and turned to leave.

“Wait,” Crowley raised a hand. “Leave Mother of course, but just—” He stopped. His face contorted into an awful, snarling smirk. “No. Wait. I’ve got a better idea. I’ll take care of this myself.”

The King vanished.

 

———

 

“Dean!”

Sam tried not to shout, but he couldn't possibly contain his relief at seeing him alive. He ran over to Dean and would have hugged him if he could. “Dean, are you alr—”

Dean just looked up at him, and Sam’s heart broke without understanding why.

“Dean, what… What happened?” he asked. "What did he do to you?"

“He didn't—” Dean grated, his voice harsh and ragged. He swallowed and tired again. “H-he didn't do anything, Sam. Never did a thing to me…”

Sam didn't believe that for a second.

“Boys…” Rowena started cautiously, her eyes still darting around the hallway, “Boys, come on now, I need to get you outta here before Fergus—”

She vanished.

Direl did a double take and flipped to face Sam, “The fuck—? What jus’ happened?”

Sam stared at where she’d been. “Our last ride out just disappeared.”

“She’s fine, not that you actually care.”

Sam spun to the voice, holding Gabriel tight.

Crowley turned to Dean with a twisted smirk, “I told you to get the fuck out, Winchester.”

“I—” Dean faltered, “I’m trying—”

“What the hell happened, Crowley?” Sam demanded. “Where’s Rowena?”

“She’s in her suites, of course,” Crowley calmly explained. “Only fitting for the Queen Mother.”

“What?” Sam looked him up and down. “Did you—?”

“You are now speaking to the fully restored King of Hell, yes.” His smirk widened. “I’d ask you to show the proper respect but it seems you have your hands full.” His eyes flicked up to Gabriel. Gabriel drew back behind Sam. “I’ll give you all one more chance to leave...”

“Can’t leave without Rowena, Crowley, unless you’re going to—”

“...And leave the angel.”

Sam and Gabriel gripped each other tighter. “We’re not leaving without Gabriel!” said Sam.

“You know, I thought you might say that.” Crowley snapped his fingers.

They were now standing back in the dungeons, Crowley on one side of the bars, Sam, Gabriel, Dean, and Direl on the other.

“So now you’re not leaving at all,” Crowley beamed. “You see Moose, you’ve been a pain in my ass for too long. I’m sick of you. I’m sick of both of you. So now you’ll rot in here, forgotten. Sound familiar?”

Sam fumed at Crowley through the bars. “You’re forgetting about Cas,” he said.

A terrible glint reached Crowley’s eyes, “You think the King of Hell can’t handle one angel?”

“You never could before,” Sam answered.

Crowley turned and stared Dean down.

“I gave a fuck before.”

And he vanished.

“What…?” Sam spun to Dean, “What the _hell_ did you do?”

Dean leaned against the wall and sank to the floor. “What _didn’t_ I do?”

Sam stared at his brother, and shared a look with Direl.


	12. Chapter 12

There was no Time in Hell. At least, that was what Crowley had always told mortals who asked. It was a faster answer than the truth. Because if what they had in Hell counted as Time, it was nothing like Earth’s. Here it was almost an entity unto itself, skipping forward or stalling as it pleased, collecting around whatever it might find interesting, or ushering the occupants of the realm through what it didn’t. So once Crowley had finished tying up the annoying loose ends of his partially-successful plan, he knew to take what he could get while he was settling back into his Kingship.

It had always been the personal touches that he reveled in most, the details that others always seemed to ignore: There were sheets to be changed, new suits to be ordered, walls to be commanded needlessly scrubbed. Aesthetic had always been his calling, building the perfect mood to perform his business in. The actual conducting of business had always come second-nature to him, the manipulation and the scheming, but  _this_ was surely where the fun laid.

He was just building up a lovely rhythm issuing commands, when a demon approached him.

“My Lord, shall you be holding court soon?” it asked in a clipped, official tone. “There are many matters awaiting your attention.”

Crowley glared at the demon, and he contemplated turning him inside out, but he was in a good mood right now, so he acquiesced. “Can’t get a moment of peace, can I? Yes, fine, I suppose I should get the basic run-down of just how terrible things have been without me. Alright, assemble the Heads of Department.” The demon bowed, but just as it was about to leave, Crowley added, “Oh, yes— There will be vacancies to fill. Go ahead and promote whoever I didn’t just kill.”

The demon, to their credit, simply nodded and left.

Crowley made a note to keep an eye on that one.

Later, in the throne room, with his new court assembled, another demon approached him, bowing low in deference.

“What would you like first, sire, the Contract Acquisition rates, the Demon-Conversion rates, the Misery Index—?”

 _“God._ None of that,” Crowley rolled his eyes. “Tell me, how’s the Kennel doing?”

“The… The Kennel?” the demon asked.

“Yes, you twit, the Kennel! How are my dogs?”

The demon’s eyes searched the other courtesans for help, but no one came to his aid. “The… The dogs are fine, sire. Breeding was actually increased under Asmo—”

Crowley glared at them.

“—under the previous regime.”

 _“Mm.”_ Crowley sat straighter in his throne. “And do we have enough contracts to _feed_ all these new hounds?”

“Oh, absolutely!” The demon perked up. “Contracts have been rolling right in, we preferenced deception over charm and the rates increased by—”

“A simple yes would have done,” Crowley waved him off.

The demon stiffened but tried to forge on. “Perhaps we could discuss the high conversion rates from the racks? The torturers are complaining there aren’t enough souls to go around anymore.”

Crowley sighed and slumped in his chair.  _“Fine._ Get on with it.”

The demon began to prattle about the problems of his peons and almost immediately Crowley’s mind began to wander to more important matters.

See, Crowley knew that one demon wasn’t going to do jack-all against that contemptuous excuse for a celestial being. No, he was going to need a proper plan. An ambush, perhaps, those usually went well. Hopefully that cache of angel blades was still in the armory—

The restored doors to the throne room were thrown open wide and another demon approached the throne, cocksure and beaming. It shoved the demon currently speaking aside and addressed Crowley directly.

“You no longer have to worry, my King,” it proclaimed, “I dealt with the angel!”

Crowley leaned to one side in his throne, placing his chin in his palm. “Oh did you, now?” he asked, not bothering at all to hide the disbelief in his voice.

“Sure did,” the demon said, completely oblivious. “Broke his fighting spirit! He’ll be moping ‘til the end of time!”

Crowley froze. A muscle in his neck flexed.

“What did you do?” he asked, his voice flat and deadly serious.

The demon finally caught on that its Lord might not be pleased with how it had handled its assignment. “I… Well, I…”

Crowley launched from his throne and grabbed the demon by the shirt, _"What. did. you. DO?"_

“I told him we killed the Winchesters!” the demon squeaked.

The room went silent. No one moved. No one even twitched.

“You absolute imbecile,” Crowley breathed. “You’ve killed us all.”

 

———

 

The sun was still high in the sky, but up and down the entire block, porch lights were flaring and the streetlights were screaming as Bris climbed out of the crater after Castiel.

“Castiel, wait, what're you gonna—”

“Crowley will pay for his treachery. He will pay dearly.”

“Hang on now, just what are you gonna do?” She followed his glare to the house, and didn't need to look down to his chest to know what he was feeling. “No, wait, don’t you go runnin’ off, what if you get hurt—”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Wha—” She recoiled. “Of _course_ it matters!”

Castiel left her gaping at him as he started walking toward the house.

“Castiel… Wait, stop.”

He ignored her and kept marching.

“Castiel, please, stop!” She forced her feet to move again and ran after him, “Please, I can’t lose you too! I can’t— Not all of you at once. I only just— We only just—”

She reached out to grab his arm and a force threw her back to the cracked pavement. The bulbs in the streetlights shattered, raining glass down onto the street.

 _“If you don’t leave,”_   his voice echoed in her ears, _“I will make you leave.”_

But Bris got right back to her feet and faced Castiel down. “I’m not goin’ _anywheres,_ ye stubborn bastard!”

Castiel turned back and started at her, his shoes crunching in the fallen shards.

She whipped a blade out of her belt and raised it at Castiel. He stopped short.

_“Put that away, Bris. You won’t stop me. You can’t.”_

Bris clenched her teeth and brandished the blade at him, “You listen to me, ye damned fool, you are _not_ runnin’ in there like this.”

_“You don’t under—”_

“I know you're hurtin' but whatever that bastard has done to 'em, it ain’t worth this!”

In an instant Castiel stepped up just inches from her, his hand holding her wrist with the blade and his cold, burning eyes boring into hers. Further down the road, more bulbs shattered.

_“You don’t understand.”_

“How the _fuck_  don’t I understand!?” she screamed in his face. “How the fuck can you look _me_ in the eye an’ tell me _I don’t understand this?”_

He faltered slightly, and for a moment Bris thought he might listen to her, so she tried again.

“Yer not thinkin’ straight,” she said, steady and strong. “You don’t wanna do this. Come back with me, an’ we’ll work on this together. We’ll get them back, that demon had to be lyin', we’ll get them back, Cas.”

But somehow that was the wrong thing to say, and Castiel flared with even greater fury. It hurt for Bris to meet his eyes, but she held out anyway.

 _“You can’t understand,”_ he ground out.

“Oh you fuckin’ _bollix,_ I’ll—!”

Castiel’s free hand shot out to her forehead and suddenly the world was squeezing too tight, her arm wouldn’t swing, her lungs wouldn’t breathe—

Her feet hit the ground. 

She looked around.

She was standing in the bunker.

 _“No!”_ she shouted, whirling around. “No, you _fucking_ bastard, you didn’t—! You just—! _Ye FUCKIN’ EEJIT!”_ Her screams echoed off the walls. _“Damn it all, NO!”_

She forced her hands back down from against her temples. Snapping into action, she shoved her blade back in her belt and ran for the library. She shot up the ladder and yanked a gigantic book from the shelf.

“Goddamned _idiot bastard,_ I fuckin’ swears to fuckin’ God Almighty—”

Behind her, completely unnoticed, Ketch was staring at her concernedly from one of the large library chairs, caught in the middle of a sip of tea.

She let the book crash onto the table and practically ripped the tome open, tearing through the pages in her search.

 _“Damnú air!_ Tellin’ _me_ I don’t _fuckin’_ understands losin'— You _absolute fuckin’—_ _Go ndéana an diabhal dréimire de chnámh do dhroma ag piocadh úll i ngairdín lfrinn,_ you son of a—”

Ketch gingerly closed his book, stood from his chair, and left down the hall to the bedrooms.

She found the page she wanted, read quickly, and took off for the storeroom.

“Show you what I fuckin’ understands what for, you  _fuckin’_ son of a _fuckin_ bastard...”

 

———

 

Castiel entered the house and went straight to the basement, straight to the wall where the sigil had once been. Rowena had needed a spell to get them all through, but Castiel wouldn’t require such careful preparations to open the barrier between these two Realms. He wasn’t bringing humans with him. He wasn’t trying to make a discreet entrance.

He wasn’t saving anything for the return trip.

He placed his hand on the wall, and allowed the rage to fully take him.

 

———

 

A tremor rang through his kingdom.

Crowley’s grip on the demon in his hands dipped slightly as he looked around the room, reading the material that made up the existence of his realm. His face hardened at what he saw, and he vanished.

The demon collapsed to the floor. Once it realized it had been released, it snapped up to look at its surrounding fellows.

“Should I… Should I wait here?”

The other demons shrugged.

 

———

 

Sam let Gabriel down from his back. The angel didn’t stray far.

“Dean, what the hell happened?” Sam tried to keep his tone even and imploring, but the fear and frustration couldn’t be completely hidden.

“What always happens,” Dean shrugged, shrinking into himself, “I just… I just fucked everything up.”

The walls around them rang with a tremor. Sam, Direl, and Gabriel glanced around nervously.

“Dean, come on, we can’t get out of this if you don’t tell me what’s happening!”

Dean looked up at Sam, then over at the barred door. “Got a lockpick?”

Sam clenched his fists.

 

———

 

Crowley reappeared in the second ring of his realm where he found Castiel stepping through what appeared to be a hole _literally burned_ through the division between the two planes of existence.

“Castiel—”

Raw energy flew at him and Crowley barely blinked twenty feet to the left in time. “Castiel, they’re not dead!”

Castiel spun at him and threw another shot, Crowley blinked over again. “My minions are idiots—” Another shot, another blink. “He was lying—”

 _“ You’re the only liar here, Crowley!”_  Castiel’s eyes _flamed_ with grace as he raised a hand to aim another volley. _“All you do is lie! You lied to us! You lied to them!” _

Crowley disappeared before Castiel could fire and appeared a few yards behind him. “They’re not dead!” he shouted, “They’re imprisoned!”

 _“You deserve worse than death!_ ” Castiel roared. He wheeled and launched another wild assault, _“The last one didn’t seem to stick!”_

Crowley flitted again, “You bloody idiot, I'm telling you _they’re not dead!_ ”

_“You're an IMP! You are nothing but a worthless IMP!”_

“Oh- _Fuck_ off, you self-righteous—” Crowley dodged another shot.

Castiel's entire body pulsed with looping flares of grace, and Crowley’s skin began to peel just being in his presence. How the angel's vessel hung on through this he hadn’t the faintest idea.

 _“ Fight me, you sorry excuse of a King! _” Castiel raised a hand, and Crowley felt himself being tugged to him.

“God no!” Crowley flitted behind him again. _“Listen_ to me, damn you!”

Castiel whirled again and swiped at him with his blade. Crowley disappeared.

He swiveled on the spot to find him, but he was gone.

“ **Pamphicas!** ” he roared. _"_ _I will hunt you down! I will DESTROY you, you coward! You will never walk Creation again!"_

 

———

 

Crowley reappeared in the throne room, seizing that demon by its collar.

_“You.”_

“My-lord-I’m-so-sorry-I’ll-fix-it—”

Crowley throttled the demon. He snapped his fingers, and its mouth disappeared, its jaw now working in a silent scream.

 _*There is no torture good enough for you,*_   he hissed in its face, _*but I’m going to try to find it anyway.*_

 

———

 

The echoes of an immense fight trailed down the hall. Or was it vibrating from the walls? Sam didn’t have time to consider it.

He looked between Dean and the door. If his brother wasn’t going to figure this out… well then he’d have to.

He turned to Gabriel and crouched to look up at him. “Hey, Gabe, see that guy?” Sam pointed to Direl.

Gabriel's eyes flicked to Direl and back.

“That guy’s Direl, okay? He’s good. You go stand with him for a sec, alright?”

Gabriel’s eyes flicked to Direl again, then down to his chest. His shoulders relaxed and he shuffled over to stand by him.

Direl frowned and looked down at himself, “What—?” He looked between Sam and Gabriel. “What, he part selkie or somethin’?”

“Archangel.”

“Arch—” If Direl hadn’t quite registered what the object of their mission was, he sure did now. “Wait, is this _that_ Gabriel?”

“Dude, we briefed you like, three times.”

“I— well—”

Sam left him sputtering and faced the door. He raised a hand to the lock, took a breath, and his eyes lit with a white light.

 

———

 

The halls behind him lay in ruins. The ashes of a score of demons swirled around his feet. The rest had fled his presence.

Castiel followed them. Wiping each of them from his path like errant leaves before his inferno.

Now that he was holding nothing back, he could feel the patterns of this realm. It wasn’t all that different from Heaven, really. It was all just wavelengths. Eventually, everything was just wavelengths.

He could see that Crowley was flitting around, moving demon soldiers, trying to form some kind of assault. But Castiel knew it for what it was. He was flailing. He was panicking.

Castiel's white-hot rage tempered into a cooler, calculating wrath.

No longer in any rush to reach his ultimate destination, Castiel slowed his march. There was nowhere that Crowley could run that he could not be followed. If he did run, Castiel would find him. And it would be the last thing he’d ever do.

He made his way lower and lower, and at some point found the doors of the throne room. He approached them, slowly, steadily. He would take no Joy in this, but it would not be quick and it sure as hell would not be painless.

Something caught his eye and Castiel looked down. An offering was there. A demon. _That_ demon. Trussed up in front of the doors, its body flayed almost beyond recognition. It had no mouth.

Its skin, both human and demonic, began to boil in his grace.

He tilted his head to consider this demon. Technically, it was only the messenger, after all.

He raised a hand and obliterated the entrance to the throne room, mercifully allowing the demon to be consumed in the blast.

 

———

 

Dean finally looked up from the floor. “What… what the fuck?”

Sam lost his concentration and the light cut from his eyes. He spun on Dean, _“What?”_

“What the fuck are you doing?” Dean shouted as he stood from the floor. Gabriel winced and stood further behind Direl.

Sam caught the motion and tried to keep his voice calm and even. “I'm getting us out of here, Dean.”

“No… what… _This_ is what Rowena did to you?”

“She didn't _do_ anything to me—”

“Really? ‘Cause it sure looks like she turned you into some sort of— _thing!”_

“Would you keep your voice down!” Sam stressed, glancing at Gabriel. “We can talk about this literally any time but now, so you can either help me or—”

Screams and the sounds of the fight trailed down the dungeon hall to them.

“Wait a minute,” Sam went to the bars and tried to look down the hall, “Is that… Could that be Cas? Did Cas come back for us?”

“How would he even get back in?”

“Maybe Rowena went to get him?”

“Yeah, because she'd actually _help.”_

Sam's response was cut off by a distant explosion. He looked back out down the hall. “What, did he bring a whole garrison?”

“No. He didn't.”

Crowley had appeared at the door and Sam and Dean leapt back. Crowley practically ripped the door off its hinges in his rush to open it.

Sam threw his arms out and the four of them backed further into the cell.

“What's going on, Crowley?” Sam demanded.

“Well you see, your favorite little contrivance is currently sitting somewhere between a walking nuclear bomb and a supernova right now, so I’m afraid you lot are going to have to kindly _get the fuck out of my Hell before he tears the place down!_ ”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “You think we’re idiots? What kind of trick is this?”

“Not a trick. Get the fuck out.” Crowley jerked his thumb.

“Just take us to him.”

“Can’t, stupid, he’d literally fry me alive.”

Sam stood a little straighter. “What the hell did you do to him?”

“How is this _my_ fault?”

Sam, Dean, and Direl gave him matching raised eyebrows.

“Well, yes, the kidnapping, but I didn’t crank him up to bloody twelve!” He gestured again, but still none of his prisoners moved. “Well, _come on!”_

“Yeah, no, we don't want any part of your—”

There was another explosion. The shockwave vibrated through the walls and shot straight through them all. Gabriel yelped through his stitches.

 _“I don’t have time for this!”_ Crowley rasped. He appeared behind them and zapped them all before they could react.

They reappeared somewhere near the throne room. The walls were scorched and radiating an even greater heat than before.

“Damn it, I _just_ had the grout done,” Crowley looked around forlornly.

Sam rounded on him, “Cut it out Crowley, we’re not falling for this.”

“Listen, you witless, stubborn buffoon, there is an angel in _my_ throne room and he thinks you’re dead. So you march your plaid little asses in there and call him off!”

“You told him we’re dead?” Sam and Dean said together.

Blue light streamed from the gaping hole where a door used to be. Their ears began to fill with a whining hum.

_“CROWLEY.”_

The voice seemed to emanate from the walls themselves, the whine built to an unbearable pitch and everyone slapped their hands over their ears. Sam noticed Crowley’s skin was blistering.

 _“I_ didn’t tell him _shit,”_ Crowley protested. “Now go! Before he burns himself out and kills us all!”

He disappeared.

Sam and Dean glanced at each other. Dean took off for the throne room.

“Keep Gabe safe,” Sam ordered Direl, and followed him in.

But before Direl could do anything, Gabriel took off as well, following both of them through the hole.

“Wait!” Direl called, and ran in after him.

Castiel was standing in the middle of a pile of rubble, but Sam and Dean almost couldn’t see him at all for how much grace was pouring off of him. Their shielded their eyes, feeling the burn immediately.

“Cas!” they shouted blindly, “Cas!”

Castiel turned toward the noise, a hand raised, ready to smite them.

 _“Cas!”_ Dean shouted. He tried to take a step towards him.

“Dean?” Castiel lowered his hand.

“Yes, please, Cas, it’s us!” Sam shouted.

“Sam?” But Castiel’s eyes narrowed. “This is another trick, Crowley.”

“No, Cas, it’s us!” Dean pleaded.

Gabriel made it through the doorway and stopped just inside, his eyes flying wide. Direl caught up to him, “Christ, hold up, ye little ludder!” and reached out to grab his shoulder. Gabriel jumped back with a yelp, and Direl hastily withdrew his hand, “Sorry, mate.”

But Gabriel’s attention was quickly drawn back forward, and when Direl followed his gaze, he finally saw the scene playing out before him.

Direl was over a hundred and seventy years old, but he had never seen anything like this. Before him now was the closest he was ever going to get to the raw power of God Himself, currently radiating from a true Divine Being at such an intensity that it threatened to burn his eyes right from their sockets. By all logical reasoning, Direl should have been rendered catatonic at the sight, should have fallen to his knees and begged the Lord for mercy on his immortal soul. But Direl didn’t see it that way. He didn’t see the very celestial intent of God threatening to consume them all, no, what Direl saw was three hearts. Three rent, shredded, and mangled hearts that had been so bright— if not a mite pained— just a short time ago. Three hearts now torn asunder by the insane plotting of what Direl considered a madman, a scourge on basic human decency.

He saw Castiel about to wipe Sam and Dean from the face of Hell,

And it pissed Direl _right_ off.

 _“Oi,_ you lousy son of a bitch!” Direl shouted at the angel before him, “What in the fuck do you think yer doin’?”

Castiel turned his attention to Direl and it almost bowled him over. Almost.

“Yeah, you, ye thick maggot, have you completely lost yer gourd? Can’t you tell a couple’a boys from some manky demons when they’re right in front a yer nose?”

Castiel squinted, looking between Direl and the brothers.

“My god, do I have to spell it out for ye?” Direl rolled his eyes, “How can you not see it’s them? Yer an Angel fer God's sake, how in the hell do I prove—?” his face lit with brilliant realization, “Veritas!”

Sam and Dean turned back to Direl, looking at him like he'd grown a second head.

“Veritas, you blasted gombeen, _Veritas!”_ he cried out triumphantly.

Sam caught on first. “Shit, yeah, Veritas!” he echoed, covering his eyes again to turn back to Castiel. “Veritas, Cas! Remember the codeword? Crowley couldn’t know that! It’s us, Cas, please, we’re not dead!”

The light of Castiel’s grace faded just enough that Sam and Dean were able to peek from behind their shielding hands, still squinting but finally able to see.

And Castiel saw them both, but for a moment it seemed he still didn’t believe it.

“Cas,” Dean took another step toward him. Sam followed. “Cas, buddy, we’re fine, see?” he held out a hand.

Castiel cautiously reached out to meet him. He took Dean’s hand, and the surge of power nearly brought Dean to his knees.

“Dean..." Castiel said, disbelief shining in his eyes as he shook his head. "No, but... The demon... The demon lied?”

Dean tried to smirk through his pained grimace, “Shit, Cas, you believed some demon’s bullshit?”

“Have you even met us?” Sam smiled. “We’re not going anywhere, man.”

The glow finally faded from Cas’s eyes, but he only managed a fleeting smile at them before he collapsed on the spot. Dean just barely caught him, using his tightly clasped hand to pull him close as they fell to the floor.

Crowley appeared in the throne room immediately. Dean jerked back from him, sliding his hand up Cas’s arm to hold him tighter.

“Damn,” Crowley lamented, looking around the room, “This will take my minions _forever_ to clean up.”

“You—” Sam lunged at him.

Crowley blinked to the left. “He really is one of you, isn’t he? I told you, dimwit, I didn’t do this. Now are you going to get the hell out of here or do you _want_ me to take advantage of this?” He waved a hand vaguely at the five of them.

Sam and Dean glowered at him, but they each took one of Cas’s arms and hoisted him up. With obvious difficulty, they started to drag him out.

Crowley just rolled his eyes. “Seriously? You boys can’t be bothered to learn a simple teleportation spell?”

He snapped his fingers and Rowena appeared next to him, her hands held up as though she were reading.

She glanced around the room she now found herself in and rolled her eyes, _“Honestly...”_

“Be a dear and get them all out of here,” Crowley tossed a finger at them, “before I change my mind.”

She sighed and rolled her eyes even higher. “Oh of _course,_ yes, your highness.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes at her, “And just what is that all about?”

“You’ve been King for five minutes an’ your head’s already big as a watermelon. If I’d’a known _this_ was what this was gonna do to you, I’d’a never agreed to this insane plan in the first place.”

Crowley’s upper lip twitched and he ground his teeth—

“Hey, Rowena," Sam cut in, "I think we’ll take that ride out now.”

She turned from her pouting son to smile warmly at Sam, “Sure thing, darlin’.”

She approached the three boys, said a few words, and flicked her hand—

And in a blink they were outside the bunker.

Sam looked around, but Rowena wasn’t there.

“Wait— What about—”

Rowena reappeared a few feet away with Direl and Gabriel. “I say now, your angel did us a favor with all this, makin’ that lovely door.”

“He’s not—” Dean ground his teeth. “You’re gonna close that, right?”

“Please,” she tossed at him, and she vanished.

“Wait—!” Sam called after her, but she was gone. “Damn it. Come on, we need to get them inside.”

Dean managed to pull his keys out of his pocket, and they all headed into the bunker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Damnú air_ = "Damn you," to one man.  
>  _Go ndéana an diabhal dréimire de chnámh do dhroma ag piocadh úll i ngairdín lfrinn_ = Some of you may have heard this one before, this is "May the devil make a ladder of your backbone while picking apples in the Garden of Hell."  
>  Pamphicas - Enochian. An insult for a vile thing. (Fun fact, can be found in Dean's rib wardings, and that's canon.)


	13. Chapter 13

 Sam and Dean maneuvered through the door with Cas as Direl followed, guiding Gabriel in gently by the shoulder.

“Well let's get everyone to a room,” Sam said, “then I'm going to need to borrow your phone to to call—”

Somewhere below them, something metallic clattered to the floor.

_“Sam!”_

Bris flew up the stairs, taking them two at a time to bowl into Sam.

“Hey!” Dean grabbed Cas, just barely staying on his feet with him as Sam and Bris stumbled backwards.

“Bris—” Sam tried to ask through her smothering kisses, “Bris— What— What are you doing here?”

She pulled back and looked into his eyes, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I _knew_ it! I _knew_ tha’ demon was a lyin’ sack a’ crap!” She kissed him again, “I fuckin’ told him," and again, "I _told_ him,” and again. “Thank fuck, thank everythin'—I knowed you’d be alright!”

“Yeah! Yeah, Bris—” Sam gave her a reassuring smile as he pushed her back. “We’re fine. Well, mostly,” he amended at a heavy glare from Dean. “Bris, how are you here?”

“Well _this_ damned kamikaze _bastard_ over here went an'—” she turned to Cas and cut herself off. “Oh Lord, no…”

She rushed forward to help Dean hold him up, “Come on now, wheres to?”

The glare Dean had turned on her shifted to something else. “Let’s get him lying down,” he grunted, and they began the arduous journey down the stairs.  

Sam turned back to Gabriel as they left. “Let’s get you a place, too, okay?” He looked up to Direl. “Um, guess you’d like a room, too, huh?”

“Oh, only if ye gots the space,” Direl said, peering around Sam at the vast expanse of the map room

Gabriel came out from behind Direl, looking up at something on Sam's face. He reached out to it and Sam leaned down to him to make it easier.

His hand came back with blood.

“What?” Sam reached how own fingers up to his face and came back red, “but—” He didn’t feel any cuts. He checked his face again, but he was fine. “Must have, I dunno, got some demon on me I guess.”

He shook it off for the time being and focused on Gabriel and Direl. “Come on,” he said, and he led them into the bunker.

Sam stopped off at the supply closet, which for some reason was a door over from where it had been previously, and they started down the hall to pick out empty rooms.

 

———

 

Dean and Bris went to the first bedroom in the hall and with some difficulty, got Cas laid out on the bed.

“Holy— What the hell happened out there?” Bris asked, looking down at Cas's chest. “There’s… I never seen anythin’ like that, his heart’s so small now…”

Dean sighed, rubbing a hand across his face. “Well he…“ but Dean trailed off, frowning at the bed. He looked up at the room around them. “God damn it.”

They were in _his_ room.

*God damn bunker and its goddamn moving _rooms…*_

Bris looked him over carefully. “Do you wanna move him?”

 _Yes,_ Dean thought. “No, he needs this, to just lie down for a while.” He dropped his head and tossed a hand, “I mean, I _hope_ that's all he needs, he's gotta be— Hey, whoa—”

He had looked back down at Cas. There was a streak of fresh blood spread across his front.

 _“Ach,_ shite,” Bris looked at her palm, ”that's me.”

“What the hell happened?”

“Well, Cas went an' sent me back here intendin’ to go runnin’ off like fuckin’ Gallipoli, so I thought I'd show him what for an’ give him a taste of his own medicine.”

Dean stared at her.

She sighed. “I were gonna summon him back.”

His stare continued, “You know how to do that?”

“Well, it were right there in the book! Not like it were _hard_ or nothin’.”

Dean just shook his head and looked back down to Cas. “God _damn_ it,” he strained, “What are we gonna do?”

 

———

 

A few doors down from the supply closet, they found a suitable unoccupied room and Sam let Direl in, his automatic apology for the meager accommodation cut off by Direl's delighted cry.

“A _real_ _bed!”_  He ran forward and flopped down on it. “My stars, an' it’s fantastic!”

“I’ll, um, just leave these here,” Sam said, and set the sheets by the door to move on with Gabriel.

The next room was also empty, so Sam opened the door for Gabriel, gently guiding him inside.

Gabriel took one look into the tiny room and dug his heels in, stopping just short of the threshold.

“What—?” Sam looked in himself and almost slapped his forehead. “Oh. Shit. Yeah. Tiny room with no windows probably isn't the best idea, huh? How about one of the big chairs in the library instead?”

Gabriel looked up at him and nodded, and they headed back down the hall.

Sam got him settled, but when he turned around to go get something to clean him up a little, his gaze caught the mess on the library table. He took in the ingredients, the book, and the bloody knife, and quickly put the pieces together. He chuffed to himself and added bandages for Bris to his list.

He returned with a scalpel, some tweezers, and first aid kit, and brought a chair from the table over to sit in front of Gabriel.

Gabriel just looked so small in that chair... He wouldn't meet Sam's eyes, and he was fidgeting terribly. Sam reached out slowly, keeping his movements slow and predictable, and placed a hand on his knee. Gabriel shut his eyes, at the touch, and his own movements slowed.

“You’re safe now, Gabriel,” Sam said to him, nice and low. “We’re safe here. You feel all that protection around us? Can you feel all the warding?”

Gabriel looked around the library, and nodded.

“Nothing gets in here but angels and humans, Gabe, I promise, you’re safe here.”

Gabriel nodded again, slower, less shakily this time. Sam decided to just sit with him for a moment, to give him a second to just take it all in, and gradually, his breath became more even, and he was finally able to sit still.

Sam lowered a hand to his lap and carefully held up his scalpel and tweezers. “Think I can start on those stitches now? I bet they itch like a motherfucker.”

Still looking down at his lap, the corner of Gabriel’s mouth twitched up, and for the first time in eight years, Sam saw Gabriel smile.

He returned it with one of his own, and Sam slowly leaned forward to begin removing the stitches one by one.

Gabriel winced as each string was pulled from his lips, but he didn't cry out. His hands balled into fists on his thighs, but he didn't whimper. As he cut the each stitch, Sam marveled at his tenacity, and could only hope that it was natural resolve and not the result of his time in Hell.

He could only guess at how long it had been for Gabriel, but when he pulled the last stitch and Gabriel finally opened his mouth, that first breath he took over his parted lips looked so serene, so satisfying, that even Sam relaxed just watching him.

Gabriel worked his jaw, one hand coming up to massage it. His eyes shifted, looking from Sam's hands almost up to his face before darting back down.

He reached out his hand to Sam's knee, not quite able to place it, but the sentiment was conveyed just the same.

“Hey, that's okay,” Sam said with a kind smile. "Just take your time, it's alright if you can't yet, okay?”

Gabriel's lip twitched in a grimace.

Sam stood to put his tools away, but only made it a step away when Gabriel’s hand shot out and grabbed his arm.

Sam turned back, and Gabriel stared right into his eyes.

_“Thank you, Sam.”_

His voice was choked and cracked, dusty and painful, sounding like it had to be dragged from him by sheer will, but Sam heard the need beneath it, the need to be heard.

Gabriel gripped Sam tighter, and pulled himself up from his chair, whatever he was lacking in strength being replaced by pure determination. Still holding onto Sam for support, he locked his gaze again and croaked, “Now where is my little brother?”

 

———

 

Bris looked down at Cas and placed her chin in her hand. “What even _can_ we do?” she asked.

“I don’t know but we have to do something…” Dean’s hand balled into a fist. “Maybe we can find another angel, get some of their mojo for him.”

“I still got that summonin' spell set up out there.”

Dean shook his head as he looked down at Cas, “No, wait… No he wouldn’t go for that. Damn it, he’d probably hate that.”

They stood in silent thought.

“Can we... Can we do what we did for Sam?” Bris asked.

“No,” he said firmly, grimacing. “Well— I mean— We're not angels, and Cas, um... Cas... I don't…”  His eyes widened in realization. “I don't know if he has a soul.”

“What?” Bris pulled her chin back. “A’course he got a soul, he’s a person ain’t he?”

“Well he’s… He has his grace but… I mean, he _was_ human for a while there—”

“Oh, Lord above,” Bris almost laughed, “I swears, is there anythin’ that hasn’t happened to you lot?”

Dean glared at her and ignored that. He looked back down to Cas, the sharp creases on his face softening into worry.

“I don’t know what to do,” he confessed. His hand twitched forward, reaching out to Cas’s, but he pulled back and clenched it into a fist.

He looked up, and saw Bris was giving him a look, an almost pitying look, “It’s alright, Dean,” she said.

“Of course it isn’t,” he spat.

Her brows arched and she was about to respond when the partially shut door opened wide.

Gabriel entered the room, stitches now gone and Sam in tow. He took one look at Cas and his gritted face darkened. He moved next to bed, edging Dean aside, and placed a hand on Cas’s forehead.

“Gabriel, wait,” Sam said as he handed Bris a roll of gauze, “you should—”

“I know what I’m doing,” Gabriel grated.

His palm lit over Cas and his eyes began to glow. When he finished he pulled his hand back to lean on the bed for support.

“So… is he gonna be okay?” Dean asked.

Gabriel turned to shoot him a glare. “Yeah, no thanks to you.”

Dean recoiled and shrank.

 _“Oi,”_ Bris shot at Gabriel.

Gabriel crinkled his nose.  _“Oi,”_ he mocked.

“Alright, I think everyone needs some time to rest here,” Sam said, springing forward. “Someone can sit with Cas and the rest of us will— Dean, hey, where are you going?”

Dean shot out of the room without so much as a glance at anyone. Sam dropped his hand at his side and turned back, pointing between Bris and Gabriel.

“Play nice.”

They both balked at him, “He done started it!” “Did not!”

Sam gave them each a heavy look and with a little hop, he ran off after Dean.

Dean was heading straight through the library, almost to the stairs to the map room. Sam caught up to him quickly and grabbed him by the arm, but Dean didn't turn to face him.

“Dean, hey, he's gonna be okay—”

“Don't.”

The hollowness in his voice caught Sam off guard. “Uh— Look, um— Just come back and… and we'll have a beer or something. Fuck, maybe some whiskey after all that, right? Still got any of that stuff Bris got you?”

Dean’s head dropped with a quiet sigh. He pulled his arm from Sam's grip.

“I have to go get Baby,” he said.

“Why don’t I do that for you,” Sam offered. “I’ll just take a plane out, I'll be home sooner—”

“No, Sam,” Dean cut him off. "I’m gonna do this."

“Why? That’s ridiculous, I'll shave days off the—”

 _“Because this is something I can do!”_ he screamed, spinning on him.

Sam flinched back. Dean's eyes were already ringed in red and his snarl was marred by a trembling lip.

“This is something I can do, and I can’t _fuck it up,_ so I’m gonna _do it,_ and you’re gonna leave me the fuck alone, got it?”

Sam just raised his palms, “Yeah… Yeah, okay, Dean.”

“Just—” Dean dropped his eyes, "Just take care of Cas, okay?"

Then he turned, and he crossed the map room, and he left out the front door.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

Dean wasn’t there when Cas woke up in the middle of the night.

 

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

 

The tent was warm against the winter chill. A snow had finally fallen, months delayed, and it sat outside, silent and perfect.

They had brought Kevin back to camp over the objections of Harold, Jakob, and the others. But Bobby had taken one look at the sobbing, broken boy in Mary's arms and shut them all up with a glare.

Now Kevin was near the fire, wrapped in a scratchy blanket, not that either was able to truly drive his shivers away.

“Kevin,” Mary tried, and Kevin jumped at her voice. “Sorry— Kevin, honey, we need to ask you some questions, is that okay?”

His eyes darted around the tent. For the time being it was only her, Bobby, Jack, and a few others.

Kevin nodded, quickly, shakily, pulling the blanket closer.

Jack started, his curiosity getting the better of him, “Your spell wouldn’t have killed me, why were you using it?”

Mary gave Jack a small reprimanding look and turned back to Kevin.

Kevin shut his eyes and tried to explain. “It… wasn’t meant to. Michael had a message for you, I was supposed to wait for Mary and Bobby and as many others as I could and say: ‘Even when you win, you’ll lose.’ Then use the spell.”

“What does that mean?” Jack asked.

“That spell was supposed to kill everyone _but_ you.”

Jack's eyes widened. He leaned back in his seat and fell silent.

Mary picked up the questions again, “What was the spell you gave to Michael?”

Kevin shrank, but he answered. “A way to open a rift. A better, easier way, without archangel grace.”

“What does he need now?”

Kevin wouldn’t look at anyone, not even their feet. “He has everything already. Or he will soon.”

“Just one more question. It’s a big one, but just one more and you can go to sleep, alright, Kevin?"

Kevin nodded, “Yeah. Okay.”

“What is Michael planning? That map showed his armies gathering in one place, what’s he going to do?

Kevin was still nodding, clinging to the motion as much as he did the blanket. “There’s a place in the south… where the walls between the worlds are thin. He’s taking his armies there. It’s where he’s going to launch his attack from.”

Mary glanced at Jack, but Jack was glaring at the floor.

“He’s going to invade our world,” she said.

Jack's brow furrowed further.

“Okay, Kevin, I promised, we're done. Let's get you— Jack?”

Jack was rushing out of the tent, disappearing out into the cold.

Mary looked to Bobby. “Find Kevin a quiet place to sleep,” she said, and ducked under the tent flap before he could respond.

“Jack!” she called after him. He was heading past the tents, not stopping to look at anyone or answering any calls of hello. He seemed to hear her though, because he picked up his pace.

Mary broke into a run and grabbed him by the arm. She spun him back but he wouldn't meet her eyes, “Jack, what are you doing?”

Jack shook his head, “I have to stop him.”

“Michael? Jack, wait—”

“You said to trust my instincts!” Jack looked to her, a pained pleading in his eyes, "And I did! I saved us, and I saved Kevin! Now my instincts are telling me that I have to stop Michael—"

“You can trust your instincts without them ruling you, Jack, that’s just impulse, it’s not the same thing.”

“This isn’t impulse! I _have_ to stop Michael!”

“Of course we do, but we’ll do it together!”

“No,” Jack pulled back from her, ”You don't understand, he’s my responsibility. I’m the one who opened this rift in the first place. It’s my fault he even wants to go to our world. It’s my fault that you and I are even here in the first place! And what Kevin said…” he looked around at the quiet tents, "I can’t ask everyone to put themselves in danger when all Michael wants is me. You all don’t have the power I do, he’ll just hurt you." Jack dropped his eyes to the ground. “He’ll kill you…”

Jack turned and ran toward the edge of camp

“Jack!”

But in a moment he was out past the warding. Mary heard the rush of his wings, and he was gone.

“No!” she screamed after him, but she didn’t dare step beyond the warding.

Especially not when the sirens kicked on.

“What?” She looked around her, then up. Smoke trails, three smoke trails were crossing the sky, converging on one spot—

There was a golden flash, and the smoke rocketed to the ground like a comet. They landed just outside the camp, throwing up the soft soil and spotting the clean snow. Mary shielded herself from the flying clods, her other hand going to grab for her gun—

She didn’t have her gun.

The smoke cleared and the scene revealed itself before her. Two angels had Jack by each arm. They dragged him up from the ground and forced him to his knees, forced him to face the third angel before them.

Michael.

“Well, _hello,_ Jack!” Michael crooned. “Long time, no see, huh?”

Jack struggled against the angels’ hold.

“Mm, that’s real cute. You’re so big and scary from over there but up close and personal,” Michael got right in his face, “you’re nothin’ but a little brat, aren’t you?”

Jack’s glare faltered.

“You thought you were gonna come get me all by yourself, huh?”

“I—”

He snatched Jack’s chin in his hand. *You don’t get to speak to me, you little abomination.*

By now the camp was scrambling. People were running in all directions to raise the defenses, rushing every which way, slipping in the snow—

Michael dropped his blade from his sleeve and slipped it across Jack's throat.

Mary screamed. No one heard her.

“I was going to do this before you so _rudely_ left my gracious hospitality,” Michael murmured smoothly as he pulled a vial from his coat pocket, "but hey, no time like the present, right?"

Jack's grace flowed in an arc to the vial. Michael didn't bother closing the wound when he was done.

“Now you…” Michael closed the vial and tucked it away again, “are coming with me, boy, to answer for your sins.”

Someone shoved a gun in Mary's hands and she was firing. Running and firing and cursing—

One of her shots found Michael's thigh. Red blood painted the snow as the archangel cried out in a thousand voices.

Others were firing now, trying to aim around Jack but bullets were striking dangerously close in the ground.

“Get the boy!” Michael ordered.

But the bullets kept flying and Michael’s two guards were hit. Their bodies crackled and they fell to the ground.

Mary was still running forward, pushing to Michael, furious and wrathful, pushing to Jack, gasping on the ground. A hand grabbed her arm and she wrenched free. Those hands took her around the middle, holding her back, and she screamed against it.

Michael made toward Jack, but another bullet landed in his shoulder and he roared again. Too badly wounded, Michael retreated. He took off in a burst of smoke and trailed off across the sky.

Mary tore herself from Bobby’s hold and ran to Jack, wrapping his arm over her shoulders and trying to pick him up by herself. There was a flurry of legs around them, and others joined in the effort. Together, they managed to get him back inside the warding, and inside a tent.

The camp fell silent once again, the only evidence of the last five minutes' events spelled out in the spoiled snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my friends, and thank you for reading Part Four of this series! Hopefully your hearts are still mostly intact and you're ready to move on to Part Five, where I intend to fully smash them to drobes.
> 
> (And here's my typical end-of-piece request that if you enjoyed this story, please share it and reblog it, etc. My only wish is for as many people as want to read this to be able to see it. :) Thank you, and hopefully I'll see you again soon!)
> 
> \---
> 
> (Below is a list of updates I made as I wrote Part Five.) 
> 
> 8/8/18 Update on Part Five: Meet on the Ledge  
> Part Five has decided it is the longest Part yet, and as such is taking proportionally longer to write. It also deals with serious topics that I absolutely want to give the attention and care they deserve, so I politely ask for your patience while I keep plugging away at it.  
> It's also looking as though there won't be any ficlets between parts Four and Five, as the pieces I was planning ended up being absorbed into the main work.  
> I'm VERY excited to get this Part out to you all, it's the climax of this story that we've been working to for all this time, so thank you so much for sticking around this far and thank you so, so much for your patience. :)
> 
> 8/21/18 Update: 60k, 3/4 done. I'm writing a freaking novel. XD This series is Harry-Potter-ing, y'all.
> 
> 9/3/18 The end is in sight. Big edits are happening and I'm looking at something like 3 or 4 more chapters to write. I wish so very much that I could post chapter by chapter for you all, but I still find myself editing even back at Chapter 1, so thank you so much for being patient because this way you're gonna get the best version of this story I can write.
> 
> 9/13/18 Bros. Friends. 85k. Still not finished. I swear I'm trying to be concise. Y'all have read my shit, I try so hard not to ramble. But. This plot. This plot! *head in hands* "What kinda shit have I gotten myself into?"
> 
> 9/23/18 The Rewrite begins. I really feel terrible that this is taking so much longer, so [here's a little excerpt](https://sassysousa.tumblr.com/post/178496167539/a-gift-for-my-readers-i-feel-just-awful-that-part), a preview of Part 5!
> 
> 10/08/18 Took a break this week, hoping to jump back in and push through the week to finish or come close to finishing!
> 
> 10/16/18 oh my god, oh my god, guys-- I have everything outlined through the end. I only have one more chapter to write and then small editing and then posting! Barring disaster this might be ready sometime next week!! Holy crap, guys, holy crap!!!  
> Three and a half months... Damn, y'all, damn.
> 
> 10/21/18 THE FIRST DRAFT IS FINISHED!! I met my goal to finish that by the end of this week past and now the goal is to be done editing by the end of this week now. Final tweaks are being made, plotlines and themes are being tightened up, and I should be posting soon!!!


	14. Extras! (sort of nsfw? softcore nsfw.)

crack comic by me 

 

And more Bris fanart! (softcore NSFW)

by UnfortunatelyObsessed

 

 


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